Burning Down Atlanta
by ZenKat22
Summary: "Damon" Elena repeated his name, in that uncanny way of hers in which you couldn't be sure whether it was a question, an exclamation, an admonishment or simply a statement. Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying.' Assume possible spoilers. Ensemble piece.
1. The Calm Before the Storm

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries - however like many a kindred spirit before me, if the Vampire Diaries found me, came to my home, and offered itself to me with its great big, electrifying blue eyes- I wouldn't say no.**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language.**

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><p><strong>AN: So, this story takes place in the same 'verse as my first one, in which Elena has forgiven Damon – and recognized her own faults in the process. You don't have to read it, but you can if you want. Also: I started writing this story in a fairly serious tone – but, I just couldn't quite keep it up. Also: This is only my second fanfic and I am working out the plot as I go along – I won't mind suggestions, if you happen to have any. Also: I don't want to beg – but, I'm as fresh and nervous as a debutante at a coming-out party – so, you should consider reviewing - especially to let me know if you like me...it, the story, I mean. Also: Nope, that's it – Thanks!**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta<strong>

**Chapter One: The Calm Before the Storm. **

**Setting: That night in Damon's Room:**

Elena's mind raced to take in everything that had just happened. _Had that all just happened? _She stared mutely down at the empty glass apothecary jar in her hands, watching the residual…_blood? Well, of course the cure was blood ..._trickle lazily, almost arrogantly down the sides as it began to pool at the bottom.

Katherine had really just been here.

Her eyes dark but round with surprise, sought Damon as he struggled into an upright position on what had only moments ago been his deathbed. He was still too pale and still drenched in sweat and sickness – but, he was no longer waxen and cadaverous. It had been strange to see him looking so…_dead_. Which might have seemed ironic to Elena had she either the time or the ability to appreciate irony at the moment. Damon's confused eyes, in turn, sought hers; his eyebrows already raised and working overtime to help his brain process everything that he had just heard.

Damon broke the through the heavy silence first. "Stefan," he scowled, brows knit, unhappy but also unsurprised – as he gingerly placed one leg and then another over the side of the bed; preparing to stand, but uncharacteristically a little uncertain of his ability to do so.

"What did she mean, Damon?" Elena's voice was steely, measured and low with only a trace of subdued urgency and suppressed darkness, as she watched Damon's progress as he alternately pushed and pulled himself forward and onto the edge of the bed.

He chose not to look at her as he answered – instead inspecting the patch of skin on his left arm that had caused him so much trouble lately – a nervous habit that he had picked up over the last several days in anticipation of his impending death, his real death, his final death – it was a habit that he would just as soon lose starting _now_. "I don't know, Elena."

"Damon." Elena repeated his name, in that uncanny way of hers in which you couldn't be sure whether it was a question, an exclamation, an admonishment or simply a statement. Damon was accustomed to assuming that she meant it in _all_ ways possible when she took that tone with him. What _was_ clear, however, was that she wanted and expected a better answer, as she tossed the empty bottle thoughtlessly on the bed and advanced on him, "What…?"

With an intensity born out of fear and concern for his brother, and out of a general frustration with the universe – that his "rebirth" (_re-rebirth_?); that his second (_no_, _third – definitely his third_) chance at life (_semantics_) was already off to a smashing start, he pulled his sleeve back into place roughly, stood up and turned to face Elena in one fluid movement, although with a bit less of his accustomed grace; abruptly placing his hands on her shoulders to comfort her, steady himself and lend gravity to his next words, "I don't _know_, Elena."

The excruciating pain and the spasms were gone – but, Damon was still weak and his legs began to falter under him, as he placed more than just the comforting weight that he had intended on Elena. Elena, for her part, quickly extricated herself from his increasingly impractical hold on her and came up to his side, placing one arm firmly around his waist, and as he sucked in a quick breath - she lowered him gently back onto the bed. His nervous intake of breath was not lost on Elena, who's eyes darkened perceptibly as a slight blush crept into her cheeks, recalling their..._pity?..._kiss. She pulled away from him, slightly conscious.

"You're still weak," she observed quietly and with a renewed sense of concern for the Salvatore brother right in front of her.

"Yes. I had just noticed that too," he answered ruefully with a hint of frustration and sarcasm bleeding through. _So much for a kinder, gentler Damon Salvatore, he thought. _"I should go after Katherine. Find out everything she knows."

"You think she was holding back?"

"She's Katherine." _Enough said._

"Maybe she was lying?" Elena made a grab for her cell phone on the nightstand next to Damon's bed. "I'll send him a text…maybe he's fine." Her fingers raced across the tiny keys with the agility of youth.

"It's _possible_ that she was lying – _but_," he indicated the bottle on the bed near him, "there's _no way_ that Klaus gave this up for nothing – I have to go after her."

"Damon – you can't even stand yet." She set the phone back down and eyed it warily as she spoke, willing it to buzz quickly with a reassuring response from Stefan.

"El-e-na," Damon cooed, placing his emphasis on the second 'e' as was his wont, "_'Vampire'_. I'll be fine. As it is, if I don't go _now_ – well, let's just say that Katherine could be mailing herself to Abu Dhabi by now. "

"What?" Elena shook her head slightly – she wouldn't let him distract her. "Still," Elena paused after offering her eloquent rebuttal. "You almost died."

"Yes, Elena, I am aware of that." _Where was she going with this?_

"No. Damon. I thought you were going to _die_…You almost _died_ in my arms…." Elena held his gaze as long as she could to press home this point – whatever her point was – before breaking off as tears threatened. It had been a _really_ rough few days.

Damon was quiet for a moment, appreciating again the enormity of the metaphorical wooden bullet that he had just dodged; that Stefan may very well have taken for him. _What was he thinking?_ _Always being the hero. Always being the…Fucking idiot_. Damon also appreciated that Elena's concern for him was more than fleeting. He was still weak, true – but, he certainly wasn't dying any time soon. He wanted to believe that she had _actually _forgiven him; he wanted to say _thank you for staying with me, _he wanted to say that he _couldn't imagine a better way to go_. Instead he said, "But I didn't."

"No, you didn't," Elena agreed, "I just don't think that I can handle any more death." The threatening tears began to flow more freely now.

Damon winced slightly at this development as his worry lines returned to his face, "Elena…Stefan's not…I mean, you don't think that…"

"No! No, I…I don't think that. Damon, during the…_that night…_Stefan, he…he came to the clearing – he tried to save Jenna. He offered himself to Klaus – to take her place."

Damon closed his eyes as Elena fought back her tears, remembering the first time that he had heard that news and the wall that he had punched. He balled his right hand into a fist reflexively at the thought. _And Jenna_. Ric might not blame him for Jenna, or even for Isobel for that matter – but then, Damon was _pretty_ sure that one day Ric's liver would. And, Elena still might. Damon had tried - before he even knew that Jenna was to be sacrificed - Damon had offered himself to Klaus; had volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb - though Elena would not know that, and there was no point in telling her now. "Yes, I might have heard something about that," Damon admitted tiredly.

"Klaus said 'no' Damon – but, he didn't kill him." Elena wiped away her tears with the towel that she probably _should _have used to wipe the sheen of sick off of Damon's brow. Luckily, it was still pretty clean.

"Yes, I know. I found Stefan there after you had…well…you were pretty 'out of it'…with a sawed-off stake in his back. So?"

"So…Stefan said that Klaus said that Klaus had plans for Stefan."

_Huh? _Damon's thumb and the pointer finger on his right hand were suddenly twitching to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he obliged them. He knew that his fever had broken – so, it _had_ to be her that was making no sense. He considered his next words carefully: "Can you make sense, please?"

"He wants to use him for…something."

Damon opened his shattering blue eyes wide, head tilted slightly to one side, his face and some of his upper body contorted in confusion, "What. The. _Hell_. does an ancient, un-killable, all-powerful, fully-operational were-pire mutt of an Original want with Stefan? _Stefan for godsakes'?_ It isn't as though he can _brood_ fear into the hearts of men!"

Elena was silent for beat. "We have to find him."

"I know."

Another beat. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"I'll go downstairs and get you some blood."

"I'll come. I need to get out of this bed." Damon started to push himself up again from his seated position.

"Damon…"

_Yes, Elena…._In this iteration of 'say-my-name' Damon heard: scolding, warning, concern, pleading and vaguely implied threat. _It's only two fucking syllables – how does she DO that? _"I'm fine. Elena." Damon stood again on shaky legs. "Also: I'm not letting you out of my sight until we know what's going on."

"I'm not the one in danger anymore."

"Yeah. I'll believe that…um, _never," _Damon snorted; his head instinctively moving forward in Elena's direction as if to invade her personal space, as his eyebrows climbed higher than should be possible indicating the full extent of his skepticism.

"Fine," She wouldn't argue with him over this – no more useless fighting; no more destructive power trips, no more mind games – none of it. It was dangerous – for everyone. He needed reassurance. He was scared for his brother... And maybe, maybe he was right to be. "Come on." Elena grabbed Damon's left arm with hers and lifted it across her shoulder's to help bear some of his weight.

"I don't need the help. Also: we might need to call the witch."

"Humor me. – Bonnie? Why?"

"Well, not that I'm not grateful to be alive or anything, but…how the hell did Katherine get _in_ here?"

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><p><strong>Setting: That same night over at the Gilbert Home:<strong>

Something had roused Jeremy from his sleep. He didn't know what – but, he could almost sense something in the air – a strange charge or energy he could feel humming all around him, moving quickly like an electric current, making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It reminded him a bit of the atmosphere in the Dead Witch Manor (_or DWM_) – but, that was different, heavier than this somehow, more concentrated – thicker, earthier. This felt different, but the same, somehow. It was pretty creepy, actually. It was way too charged for Jeremy to go back to sleep –he decided that he should go check on Alaric, as long as he was up.

Jeremy could swear that he saw shadows move as he made his way down the stairs. Not cool.

On the first floor, Jeremy could feel eyes all over him, but every time he turned around – there was nothing. And Alaric was blissfully asleep, (_or possibly passed out)_ on the couch – either way, there's no way it's him.

"Anna?" Jeremy exclaimed, startled. Even as he could see Anna in front of him (not looking extremely happy, either), Jeremy could sense another pair of eyes boring into his from behind, he twisted around to look: "Vicki?"

"Mhhmmhm…Jeremy? What time is it?" Alaric threw one arm out from under the blankets of his make-shift bed and tried, eyes still closed; trial-and-error style to find his discarded watch on the Gilbert coffee table. After a wrong turn at his car keys and an empty bottle of scotch that he had jacked from Damon's stash at some point – his own booze having been surreptitiously snatched out from under him along with his home, his girlfriend and for a period of time – his _body_ – he finally found his watch, brought it right up to his face before opening his eyes, only to realize that it was too dark to actually make out the time. Without looking, again, he dropped it unceremoniously on the floor with a peeved, yet philosophical grunt.

"Ah...Alaric, hey," Jeremy turned towards the direction of Alaric's voice, "Uh, sorry man – I didn't mean to wake you up." Right about now, looking warily around his living room, Jeremy wished _he _was still asleep himself. Hell, maybe he _was_ still asleep. That would be a trip. No, really. This was like, some kind of bad dream, right? That dream that plagues every adolescent boy (who's had a near…uh, _actual_ death experience) at some point – where his dead, vampire ex-girlfriends rise from the dead-dead and are only just kind of _dead_…again. That totally had to be a thing.

"It's okay, Jer…I wasn't sleeping too well anyway – nothing like the constant humming of overhead halogen lighting like in your standard Virginia public high school to lull you to sleep at night, papers (_ungraded, still_) sticking to your head…"

"Ohh – so, _that's_ where you've been sleeping these past few days," Jeremy grinned into the darkness in spite of himself. He loved this guy. He wasn't exactly sure why he did, but he did. And, he had totally come through for him tonight. "Dude, you _do_ realize that Stefan and Damon live in a _boarding house,_ right? Like with lots and lots of rooms? My sister was staying there for a while. And aren't like, you and Damon drinking-buddies or something?"

"Ahh, right," Alaric practically sighed into his hand as his rubbed what was left of the sleep from his tired eyes. "That probably would have made more sense," he exhaled as his sigh transitioned into a weary chuckle, and back to a sigh again as he remembered that right about now his 'bestest' drinking buddy was probably a pile of ash, or dust, or a grayish, vein-y, defanged rotting corpse. But, maybe Elena would have called or come home by now if that was the case? Truth be told, Alaric was really gonna miss that emotionally damaged, crazy-eyed sonofabitch and his bourbon.

Suddenly, coming to himself, Ric sat upright – this was a _Gilbert_ kid and this was the _Gilbert_ House – something had to be wrong. Not one to mince words, Alaric immediately looked in Jeremy's general direction, and squinted trying to distinguish his features in more detail, "Is everything alright, Jeremy?"

Jeremy, who had very suddenly looked away from Alaric, turned to face him again and answered in a controlled, but vaguely tremulous voice as he took a step towards the older man. He looked a little spooked and there was something funny about the way he walked – like he was trying to avoid walking into things that weren't there, carefully but nervously side-stepping empty spaces. "Uh... I'm not sure."

Alaric, awake now, threw his legs over the side of the couch. "What's wrong Jeremy?"

Closer now, Jeremy sat in a heap on the side of the couch just vacated by Alaric's legs, one elbow resting on the armrest, the hand of his other instinctively brushing over his face, before coming to rest on his right knee. "Ric…have you ever seen _The Sixth Sense_?"

Alaric's eyebrows climbed with worry, surprise and intrigue. "Do we need to call Bonnie?"


	2. Deus Au Katerina

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries - however like many a kindred spirit before me, if the Vampire Diaries found me, came to my home, and offered itself to me with its great big, electrifying blue eyes- I wouldn't say no.**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that's how I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, this story takes place in the same 'verse as my first one, in which Elena has forgiven Damon – and recognized some of her own faults in the process. You don't have to read it, but you can if you want. Also: I started writing this story in a fairly serious tone – but, I just couldn't quite keep it up. Also: This is only my second fanfic and I am working out the plot as I go along – I won't mind suggestions, if you happen to have any. Also: I don't want to beg – but, I'm as fresh and nervous as a debutante at a coming-out party – so, you should consider reviewing. Also: Thanks!**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter Two: Deus Au Katerina.**

**Setting: Port of Mystic Falls: Because, hey – why not?**

Katherine had not, in fact, mailed herself to Abu Dhabi. _Yet._ She was, however, loitering within the vicinity of many, many large shipping crates. Mystic Falls was quite the self-sufficient little upstart town, she conceded wryly. Katherine might be a heartless bitch, but she could appreciate self-sufficient upstarts. She had been feeling uncharacteristic twinges of…_something…_ever since she found out about Damon's werewolf bite – and then again watching Stefan's rapid and rabid descent into a blood-frenzy. That had been…_strange_. Initially she had been intrigued – waiting for the blood to take it's affect on him – waiting for that bad boy she knew was inside to break through that righteous and upstanding 'good boy' exterior. But, all too soon she had become uncomfortable, feeling like she was watching her Stefan disappear before her eyes. To give yourself up so wholly…Feelings of derision, pity and grudging respect warred within Katherine. She pushed them all resolutely aside in favor of something more familiar: her agenda.

She was pretty sure that Klaus had known that she was no longer susceptible to new compulsions. She put on a good show standing in the sunlight and letting herself fry – but, Klaus wasn't an idiot, nor was he the type to ignore his instincts. No, he was toying with her – and for once, she knew she had been seriously outdone. If Damon hadn't come with that vervain – if Klaus hadn't pretended to believe her – If Stefan hadn't -_ inadvertently -_ afforded her a chance to escape…No, he must have known that she wasn't coming back – which meant that she should be running. And she really _should_ be running – Klaus would not let her be for long - despite his newly acquired…_pet._ Katherine smiled with that arch mixture of sweetness and malevolence at a passing dock worker – _this town, seriously – what _don't_ they have? –_ as she contemplated a quick snack while she waited. But he looked a little gamey and although Katherine wouldn't admit it – watching Stefan gorge himself like an overfed deer tick just a few hours earlier had actually done more to kill her appetite than that time she found herself in a Florida nudist - _naturalists_ - retirement community in the early 80's. Instead, she leaned over, resting her elbows carelessly on a nearby, unattended pallet of boxes and inspected her nails in the dim yellow glow of a dock light. Klaus would have expected her to run, however, what with her vaunted and infamous sense of self-preservation. And while she would. _Soon_. She figured that she had a small window of opportunity here to go unheeded, to pay attention, and maybe to find some kind of small heretofore unknown advantage, uncover some little detail; some kind of information that she could use, file away in her mind to either keep Klaus at bay, or to help her in that final, inevitable showdown. And while she had squared away her debt to Damon Salvatore; and although she felt that she owed neither Stefan nor his equally uptight twit of an _Elena_ anything – if she could learn more of Stefan's fate – so much the better. She didn't _owe_ him, but…

Katherine looked up and cocked her head to the side as she caught the very, very faint scent of fresh blood in the air, followed closely by a blond-in-a-horror-movie scream. It was a bit off – she wouldn't risk getting that close to Klaus – she was being tactical, not suicidal – but, it carried further; bouncing along the surface of the gently lapping water. Still, however, if she had not been a very, very old vampire she probably would not have caught it all. _There goes one_, she thought a little smugly. Katherine was feeling a little smug – _pleased with herself –_because Katherine had done two things immediately upon her release from Klaus' apartment, one had been to speed that wolf-blood over to Damon, the other – and the one that she had undertaken first – _for logistical purposes_ – had been to compel as many people as she could find nearby to keep an eye on Klaus himself, Stefan, and any Elijah-shaped carpets, boxes, body-bags, whatever – without giving herself away. Katherine had not gotten to be this old by being stupid. Thus with the help of her tiny army of mind-whammied local denizens, she had learned that Klaus was here; in a storage area of the dock complex used to hold cargo that would soon be stowed onboard freighters for destinations unknown, or conversely, cargo that had been unloaded, awaiting customs inspections. Soon a burly, dark-haired man with facial hair and a gut; a young but rough looking blue collar type in a (_really, really, criminally unstylish)_ heavy, puffy, dark beige jacket and jeans approached her and spoke quietly in a deep voice:

"Ma'am? You said to keep you informed…"

Katherine straightened up and approached the dock worker as if he were a strange and anomalous child, eyes a little stern, face striving for kind concern and openness. "What have you learned?"

"Klaus has said that he and the other will leave town tonight."

"Is that all you heard?" Katherine prodded.

"Klaus also said that he had kept his promise to re-unite his brother with his family. And then I heard a lady screaming."

Katherine's look at the man sharpened at his words, the wheels in her mind turning quickly. "Wait," she said, "Klaus said that he had _already_ kept his promise? As in they have _already been reunited?"_

"That is what he said, ma'am."

Katherine turned away, processing the implications – always, _always_ so priggishly careful about their words…She gesticulated thoughtlessly in the direction of the dockworker, distracted by her thoughts, "Katherine – my name is Katherine." She knew that Klaus was paranoid, she suddenly recalled that random-seeming "luggage" comment by the…_I guess he was a witch? Though not like any she had ever seen, but whatever..._but, to actually ship his dead family _around_ with him, everywhere he goes? That was just fucking _crazy_. And not crazy like a fox crazy either. More like, _Psycho_ dress up like my dead, rotting mother and drink tea crazy. _Awesome…just awesome…_

"Ah. That's a beautiful name, miss. Mine is Jimmy," Jimmy the dockworker looked after her with admiration for more than just her name, but did not extend his hand as he thought she looked rather preoccupied.

She waved him off, "Yes, it is, Jimmy," she spoke absently, before abruptly spinning around to return her attention to him and their little discussion. "So Jimmy…" Katherine continued all sweetness and light: "That is everything that you _heard_, yes?"

"Yes, ma…" Katherine cocked her head slightly and tsked in remonstrance. "Yes, Katherine."

"Very good, Jimmy. I like you." Jimmy beamed a little sheepishly in response, the fair skin under his beard coloring slightly – such a refined lady must be a member of one of the founding families for sure. Jimmy didn't really concern himself too much with that stuff – before he became Union he used to freelance some - loading and unloading equipment and such for the town's many festivities – (come to think of it, he probably _could_ have done that full time, seemed like there was always a party or a carnival or some such kind of fancy something going on downtown, but Union benefits…well, you can't beat that) – he had met the mayor's wife some before the mayor died in that Founder's Day fire. Real hands-on, take-charge type, but refined too, like Katherine. "Now, I would like for you to tell me everything that you _saw_," Katherine saccharined out, while looking deeply into Jimmy's small, but pretty golden-flecked hazel eyes.

Suddenly Jimmy's kind, gravelly baritone took on a monotone, "I helped an English gentleman find his cargo." Katherine's eyes narrowed and the corners of her sultry mouth pulled down into a half frown at the obvious change in cadence. Her original compulsion had obviously not covered all her bases, not been all-encompassing enough. Klaus had found a way in. Compulsion, for all its usefulness could be a tricky and exacting bitch. Not unlike Katherine, really. Actually, that was probably a good thing all in all – if Klaus had had trouble compelling Jimmy here – then he would have known immediately that something was up. On the other hand – it was obvious that Jim here had been compromised. _Right, then._ "Do you know what was in the cargo containers?"

"No, ma'am – there was nothing to see."

"Fine. Do you know how many there were?"

"Seven come in. But eight total to be moved back out," Here, finally Jimmy appeared to resurface – that information would be necessary for Jimmy and the other dock hands to move the cargo.

"Do you know when they are scheduled to be shipped off?"

"Within the week."

"Do you know where they're going?" Katherine was growing both excited and impatient at the passing time.

"The freighter they're scheduled to go out on –the Norfolk –well, a big girl like that will be hitting several ports of call. I can't say as I know specifically where those crates'll end up. You'd need the master cargo manifest for that information."

"Okay, Jimmy – now this is important – and then we'll be done here; do you know where, exactly, they are being stored?" Katherine watched him intently, fervently hoping that this information had not been compelled away by Klaus or that he had been restricted from repeating it –

"Dock building 4, area C, level 2."

Katherine cupped the dock workers' bearded cheeks with both her hands and said, "Thank you," as she sighed in satisfaction. "You have been _extremely_ helpful." She planted a tiny kiss on his broad face, pulled away quickly and snapped his neck with her delicate hands. She brushed a hand across her face where his course beard had irritated her skin, looking slightly put out, before carefully bending over the body, picking him up and tossing him easily over one shoulder. She sped to the edge of the still darkened waters, and dropped him off near a bit of rocky coastline and away from the Dock's main area of action – which, even at this early hour – she could hear the beginnings of another busy day. With any luck he would get caught on something craggy and stay put.

Ok_, now_, she could go.

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><p><strong>Setting: Port of Mystic Falls: Because, why shouldn't the small town of MF have their own Port?<br>**

Stefan's mind and senses were reeling. _What was he doing? What had he just done?_ He tried to think through the haze that had been encroaching on his consciousness since probably the third or fourth bag of blood that Klaus had forced on him – _that he had chosen to drink to save his brother –_ to save Damon. Damon would live – that was all that had mattered. And Damon would look after – _I bet –_Elena.

_Elena_.

He had given her up. She would understand – _he hoped that she would understand_ – she had a brother. She would do anything for Jeremy. And, anyway, Stefan tried to reason through the fog, Elena had made it clear that she would not be around forever – that _they_ would not be _forever_. She did not want to turn. Stefan didn't blame her. It was a difficult lif…_existence_, he corrected himself ruefully, but not quite mournfully – he was too far gone for that; he looked down at the dead girl at his feet – as he tried slowly to suppress his vampire nature as made manifest on his chiseled features. He wondered how much, if any, the limited and hard won control he had achieved over the last several weeks –_had it only been a few weeks? Time seemed to pass so strangely in Mystic Falls –_ would help him now, or whether it would simply render him that much more aware of the damage and death he would soon be called upon to inflict.

His face, he could feel, back to 'normal', he pondered briefly the body sprawled before him –_There was going to be more of that_, he supposed – he tried to consider the meaning of her life, the meaning of her death and the sorrow of her loss, but it was an intellectual endeavor at best. The ability to _feel_ for this girl – as he knew he should –was just out of his reach, hovering on the outer edges of his understanding.

No. He certainly could not blame Elena for her choice – he was _happy_ for her – but, this _was_ his existence for better or for worse and it was _Damon's_ existence too. And when the dust settled, and Stefan's head finally cleared in a decade or two – it would be Damon who would still be there. Also, for better or for worse – although, he hoped now, allowed himself to hope, that it would be for the better. He had been willing to sacrifice himself – his life – to save Jenna – to spare Elena. This was different – _worse –_but, if he was completely honest with himself, the stakes had been higher. Death he could handle – but, _this_…_again_? Even if he lived, he wasn't sure he would survive.

He was glad for her text. At least now he knew that he was carrying out his side of a bargain that had been kept. He hoped vaguely that they would not coming looking for him – he didn't know what there would be left of him to find. Elena would be adamant – but, Damon – Stefan hoped –would talk her out of doing anything stupid. Klaus would have no problem killing them all.

Klaus beckoned. "Come along Stefan – our business here is done and _you_ will have plenty of time to contemplate your new life when we get where we're going." He spoke softly but firmly; and with his usual sultry menace.

Stefan looked up, but did not speak. He would follow Klaus – he had no choice. He had forfeited his liberty and his humanity when he made his deal. Even if he staked himself; took his ring off and wandered into the sunlight to seek his release and accept his judgement – there could be no guarantee that Klaus would not take his anger out on Damon and Elena. He stepped over the body, and followed Klaus in silence.

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><p><strong>AN 2: So, I have something of an outline now – at least for the next few chapters – so, it looks like I will be continuing this story. However – as much as I would love to post a chapter a day – I really need to get some work done – and by that, I mean the type that actually **_**pays my bills.**_** So, I don't anticipate another chapter for a week or so. But, if you would like to attempt to bribe me with booze or reviews – please, feel free. Also: Apparently, I am detail-oriented (like it says on my resume), and I hope the plot isn't moving too slowly for you guys. **


	3. A shot of Delena,  neat

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries - however like many of you, if the Vampire Diaries found me, came to my home, and offered itself to me with its piercing and hypnotic, yet strangely vulnerable blue eyes- I wouldn't say no.**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, I started writing this story in a fairly serious tone – but, I just couldn't quite keep it up. But, I mock because I love – seriously – just ask anyone (un)fortunate enough to be loved by me. Also: I don't want to beg – but, I'm as fresh and nervous as a debutante at a coming-out party – so, you should consider buying me a drink, gently stroking my hair, and telling me how pretty I am (and by all that what I mean to say is please consider leaving me a review). Also: Wow, you guys – this chapter took a lot out of me – I hope it was worth it.**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 3: A shot of Delena…neat.**

**Setting: Still **_**Later**_** that Night: Back at the Boarding House – Because if TVD can stretch Time to suit it's purposes – then so can I, dammit!**

Damon sat quietly in front of the fireplace, several empty and forgotten blood bags on the table nearby next to a half-empty and very much not forgotten decanter of bourbon. Despite the overwhelming stillness of the atmosphere in the parlour – there was a palpable and restless humming coming off of the elder Salvatore brother in waves, the intensity of which was almost enough to bend and distort the air around him.

Many disparate thoughts snaked raucously through Damon's mind as his keen eyes appeared to concentrate on the fire before him: thoughts of his near-death, thoughts of his long-ago life, memories – so close to the surface now – of the man that he used to be mixing together with the intimate and mocking knowledge of the monster which he had allowed himself to become. And Stefan. Of course, Stefan. Brooding, selfless, noble…stupid, _stupid Stefan. _If Damon had once thought that there was no such thing as a bad plan – just poorly executed great ones – he stood corrected. Stefan's plan – whatever it had been –had most certainly been a _bad plan._ Without so much as a muscle twitch to alter the impassive mask that was his face, he brought the glass of bourbon up from its resting place on his right leg up to his face and drank. Damon hadn't _wanted_ to die, and as a vampire he hadn't ever really _allowed himself _to contemplate anyone's death…_much._ Least of all his own. But, he had made a kind of peace with it, had believed that he deserved it; believed maybe even that he _needed_ it.

The irony of what Stefan had done was not entirely lost on Damon: Stefan, who had propelled him into this existence against his will, against his inclination and against his intentions, thought to make up for it by now ensuring that he would remain in this existence – indefinitely. And both times had been at the expense of Stefan's own happiness; although, Stefan had been blissfully and bloodily unaware of that fact the first time around – until Damon had deigned to clue him in.

Ironic parallels aside – what had been true then, was, apparently, just as true now: Stefan could not and would not let go of his big brother. One day, Damon mused darkly, they would have to have a little chat about the concepts of co-dependence and self-determination. -_ Ahhh…but, there was no escaping irony tonight. _Damon expecting _others _to_ accept and respect boundaries! _ Boy, it really is true that almost-dying is both fun _and _educational. _Whatever_.

But first, he would have to get Stefan _back_. Something that, right now, he had absolutely no fucking idea how to do.

_You could have walked away, Damon._ His fevered dream came back to him as he emptied more of the amber contents of the decanter, glowing bright in the soft firelight, into his cut crystal glass. _Yes_. He could have. Deep down, Damon had known exactly what Katherine was…and he didn't mean a vampire. And she had played her games with him _and_ his little brother. And Damon, so enamoured as he was with her then and the prospect of eternal life and eternal love - had failed to protect Stefan from her. Stefan had _needed Damon_ and he had failed him. Damon was determined not to fail him again. He would get him back – somehow – he would get him back for Elena.

His thoughts strayed momentarily to the girl…the _woman_…sleeping upstairs.

After his had had his initial post-cure feed, he had wanted to call Bonnie. Katherine was loose and, apparently, had a free all-access pass to the Salvatore place. _Katherine was probably in the wind by now_. But, if Katherine could get in – it was possible that _anyone_ could. Elena was, understandably, more interested in tracking Stefan – but, she held back, realizing that Damon needed his strength, and that they needed a _plan_. Once Elena had accepted that there was nothing to be done that night, she had insisted that calling Bonnie could also wait until morning. And then she had fallen asleep in Damon's room, exhausted both emotionally and physically while Damon took a much needed shower. They had argued briefly about this – Elena insisting that she: A) wasn't tired, and B) didn't think that Damon really needed to keep her that close while he showered. Damon remained steadfast in insisting that she stay close, however, and truthfully, unless Elena wanted to sit in Stefan's room or the downstairs parlour alone at four in the morning – she knew that she had nowhere else to go. So, they compromised – _her childish sense of propriety had to have a say - _with her sitting next to his bed on the far side of the room, facing away from the large, open bathroom. After Damon had dried and dressed, he had carefully lifted her up and deposited gently her on his brother's bed.

"Speak of the devil," Damon spoke without turning his head, his voice measured and distant.

Elena halted in her progress halfway down the staircase – it was still a little unnerving to her how he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. Stefan might be able to sense her that way too, but if he did, he never flaunted it.

"I thought you were sleeping." He polished off his glass. Again.

"I was," she countered as she joined him on the couch. "And I kept waking up. End of very short, very boring story." She placed her hands out in front of her – feeling the warmth of the fire. Not too long ago – _like, a day maybe_ - Elena had thought that she would never want to be this close to a fire ever again after Klaus' witch had trapped her and Jenna in rings of fire. _Nothing said, 'I live in Mystic Falls' quite like getting trapped in a mystical ring of fire by an ancient evil and his witch in an effort to break an ancient binding curse cast by even more ancient witches on said ancient evils' true evil nature_. Elena was thinking about having a tee-shirt made. She laughed softly at herself – she really _was_ running on fumes. But – _this_ fire seemed comforting somehow, and familiar. After all, what could be a more familiar sight than Damon, drink in hand, decanter at the ready, sitting by the fire?

Damon canted his head to the side and sent a side-long glance in Elena's direction. If Elena was laughing, Elena was probably loopy, and if Elena was loopy, then Damon might have cause for concern. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

"Ummm…," Elena thought a moment before answering: "Bonnie, me and Caroline almost thought about ordering Chinese food last week – at least, I'm pretty sure it was last week…"

The corners of Damon's mouth twitched suddenly, a slight but genuine smile pulling at his lips. _Oh,_ _yeah,_ he thought to himself, c_ompletely loopy._

"Be serious, Elena…" _Really? Had he actually, really just said that? To Elena?_ _Good Lord – he was going to be just as bad as Stefan soon._ He sobered somewhat, thinking of his brother – but, if Elena was making jokes, it meant that Elena _needed_ to laugh – even if it was only for a few minutes, and even if it was only to keep the tears and exhaustion at bay. "I...Wait...I'm sorry – but, did you say Chinese food?," Damon placed one hand behind his left ear, as if to be sure that he had heard her properly, "I didn't know there even _was_ another restaurant in Mystic Falls other than the Grill," he teased Elena for her propensity to _always_ end up there…_all the time_.

Elena laughed again, a little more obviously: "You know what? I didn't know about it either. Not until Caroline came by and looked it up on her iPad or her iBook or her iFord navigation GPS whatever-thingie." Caroline always seemed to have _something_ she was eager to show off lately.

"So, why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what? Oh…well, we _might_ have gone to the Grill instead," Elena smiled sheepishly.

Damon shook his head slowly in a show of mock – _mostly_ – disapproval, "Now _that_ is just sad. There is a whole _world_ out there, Elena – there's even more to Mystic Falls than you appreciate. One day, you'll see that. If you let me, one day – I can help you see it."

"Ah, like you helped me _see_ Georgia?"

"Well," he smiled a slightly indecent smile. "We _might_ forgo the kidnapping and illegal taking of a minor across state lines part next time." …_And the vicious murdering of my witchy, but traitorous ex-girlfriend, _he added internally. He waggled his eyebrows at her playfully, "Or _not_. It'll probably depend on what kind of mood I'm in that day. Or, who knows, you might not be a minor anymore by then – unless, maybe you've had a birthday that I don't know about?"

"Nope. Still seventeen, sorry."

Damon was quiet for a beat. She was still so young, and she had had so much happen to her and around her already to cause her pain. Himself most definitely included. And just when this whole absurd "Curse" thing had _finally_ wrapped up – a new crisis had begun.

"Thank you, Elena," Damon said suddenly serious, his voice low; his face as open and expressive now as it had been closed and impassive just a few moments ago; his blue eyes dark and loaded with meaning in the dim light of the fire.

Suddenly Elena felt a little nervous, a little more aware of the intensity of the heat emanating from the fireplace. _This_ Damon made her a little uneasy…or he _had_ anyway. Before tonight, at least. She had meant what she had said earlier – she _had_ forgiven him. Not so much because he _deserved_ it, but because she had realized how much disaster _she_ had courted, how reckless _she_ had been with everyone's lives, how thoroughly one track-minded _she_ had been. She had forgiven him because something which had begun as him hurting her the best way that he knew how, had somehow morphed without warning into a merciless, knock-down, drag-out war between the two of them. They had been feeding the darkness within each other – and everyone had suffered. The difference between them was extreme, yes, but it was also a matter of degrees. Also: he had needed it – he had _needed_ to be forgiven just like Elena had needed to forgive herself. Without forgiveness – there was no moving forward. Looking at Damon now, Elena was no longer afraid of what he might _do_, so much as what might _happen._ She looked down briefly at her hands, coiled in her lap.

"Damon, I…," she tried to meet his deep, clear blue gaze.

"You don't have to say anything, Elena." She really didn't. He had already gotten more than he felt that he deserved from her, from _anyone_. After everything that he had done, she had been prepared to put _him _at ease, been willing to crawl into bed with a monster and comfort him…Damon stood as he turned away from her. He refilled his drink, turned to face the fire, and softly placed his glass on the ledge as he leaned in, the palms of both hands open, bracing himself on the mantelpiece, his back to Elena.

Elena stood in turn, took one step towards him and stopped, "No, it's okay, Damon. I…I want to." Here she paused to collect her thoughts, "I really _have_ forgiven you…," Damon interrupted her, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, "I'm not _dying_ anymore, Elena – you don't have to comfort me; you don't have to lie to me." God knows Damon had already had enough of _those_ to last all his lifetimes.

"I'm serious Damon – it's done. This…antagonism between us – it ends now. I forgive you," she stated firmly as she ventured to place one hand on Damon's back, just under his left shoulder blade feeling the silk of his black shirt on her outstretched palm and feeling Damon's entire body tense and stiffen beneath her fingertips. They both unconsciously held their breath. Damon straightened immediately and turned to face her and closed the distance between them, his piercing eyes searching hers, as her hand came away from his back only to brought back up to his chest, "I want you to know that, and I want you to believe that...I _need_ you to….can you? Can you believe me?"

Damon was stricken, his eyes slightly wide in confusion and wonder, as he nodded mutely in acquiescence, contemplating Elena. She _was_ amazing.

"Good," she sighed, relieved. "But, Damon – when I said that this antagonism between us has to stop – I _meant_ it. No power plays, no intimidation, no threats, no manipulation…," she let her hand fall away from his chest as her voice hardened fractionally and eyes flashed briefly with a different emotion, "And Jeremy is _off-limits_." The harsh light that animated her dark eyes dissipated just as quickly as it had appeared, "We can meet as equals. I won't tell you to be the better man anymore – because, I don't need to….because you _are_….Agreed?"

And for the first time in over a hundred years – Damon Salvatore didn't know what to say. This was a man who had snarked in the face of were-wolf torture, had told an Original to go to Hell, who never opened his mouth to say anything that wasn't deeply imbued with multiple meanings and brutal subtext…and he was speechless. A myriad of emotions overtook his features one by one, before his posture eased almost imperceptibly - he allowed himself to breathe again - and a combination of gratitude, ecstasy, sadness and determination pooled in his eyes. Finally, he said the only thing that he felt he _could_ say: "We'll get him back, Elena."

Elena, unsurprised by the turn of his thoughts, reached out and took his hand. "I know we will, Damon."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile: Back at Chateau Forbes.<strong>

Caroline Forbes could not sleep. It had been bad enough getting killed and turned by - _that bitch_ -Katherine against her will, and then hiding that from her mother – then, her mother found out that she was a vampire, and Caroline knew that she knew – and _now_, her mother knew that Caroline knew that she knew. _Ugh_! Most of Caroline was actually happy that everyone knew everything – _even Matt_, she guessed glumly. She, herself, was very open person by nature – almost wholly guileless – and even when she _tried to…well…guile, _she knew that she wasn't very convincing anyway_ – _and she just hated _having_ secrets, _keeping_ secrets, _betraying_ secrets. Basically, she hated pretty much everything having to do with secrets. And she had had to keep so many secrets lately.

Caroline knew that she had wrested a small victory from the near-tragedy of this night. She was _sure_ that she would win her mother over entirely – she just wasn't completely sure that she had…yet. _Caroline_ knew that she was still Caroline – she just…had special dietary needs, now. And, so what? Plenty of people couldn't eat peanuts or gluten, or needed dietary supplements or something….It was just that she wanted to be sure that her mother did too. After all, her mother _ran_ the town's anti-vampire Council – she had been raised to run it, and indoctrinated all her life to hate vampires, indiscriminately. Caroline sighed. She wouldn't take it away again – they would make it, she had decided…but, for now, she was a little uneasy. Her ears were attuned to every movement of her mother, and every sound that she made, also every random noise the house made, random street noises, the neighbors, someone's late night sprinkers, insects – Caroline was one on-edge vampire right now, and she could hear _freaking_ _everything_.

Alone with her thoughts and with nothing but distant sounds and faraway noises to distract her or keep her company: Caroline decided that she couldn't take it. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and propelled herself out of bed. She moved around her room quickly and quietly, getting dressed. She wasn't sure where she would go, she thought, as she threw on a pair of jeans, but she knew that she needed to get out; take a walk, take a drive, be anywhere but here right now.

She hopped in her…_adorable…_ little Ford Focus and left. It was too bad that she didn't have a specific destination in mind – otherwise she could use her GPS to get directions – _she loved that._

* * *

><p>Liz was also having trouble sleeping that night. Trying to sleep in the same house as a vampire – even if it was Caroline –was a new experience for the sheriff. She was standing alone in the small, bare bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom. She tried not to make too much noise, but she was ill at ease, looking tiredly into the mirror as if her reflection could give her the answers that she needed. About Caroline…about the Salvatores – Damon Salvatore – she had actually put him <em>on the Council!<em> And Carol had made him its head. Liz almost smiled in a grim kind of satisfaction at the idea of telling Carol _that_ little bit of information, after the confrontation that she had initiated earlier that day. Almost.

Liz' mind fixated on all the things that she didn't know; didn't understand; didn't even know how to begin _to_ understand. Hell, she may as well include Tyler Lockwood, Bonnie Bennett, and both of the Gilbert kids to that list as well. Maybe she should track down John Gilbert – he must know something, he had worked with Damon for godsakes'. _Hell. _Even the school's _history teacher_ knew more than _she_ did about what was going on in this town. It had taken a teenager – Matt Donovan – to tell her that her own daughter was a vampire.

She looked up when she heard the front door close. Felt a tiny knee-jerk reaction – a burst of motherly instinct – telling her that Caroline shouldn't be leaving home in the middle of the night; that it was dangerous out there. She caught herself mid-thought. Caroline _was_ what was dangerous out there. Maybe. But, she was _still_ Caroline – Liz was sure of that – and Caroline could take care of herself now. But, if there was a threat to the town – Liz needed to know about it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: So, I just thought I would mention (again - last time, I promise) – that if anyone wants a more fleshed-out account of Elena coming to terms and forgiving Damon – that would be my earlier one-shot: Détente.**

**A/N 3: I just want to specifically thank those of you whom I could not thank in PM's: Ldy. Bee: I was just kidding about the thesaurus joke - no offense taken AT ALL - I loved your review! Although, I was being totally serious about the crappy job - that part is sadly true...), And Bad Memories: It's like you know me! Jack Daniels is, indeed, a most effective form of bribery. Also, just for you: Damon Salvatore's "piercing" eyes. **


	4. The Sun Finally Rises

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to.**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how I (and Damon) roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: So, I just want to thank everyone for the lovely reviews and the alerts and everything – they really do help me write. Also: whiskey – that helps me write too. And since I can neither realistically ask for, nor expect to receive donated booze over the internets – Please consider leaving me a review. Also: Can I just say how much I *love* Alaric? I would share my whiskey with him any day.**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 4: The Sun **_**Finally**_** Rises… Seriously….I Promise.**

**Setting: The Gilbert Home for Wayward Orphans and their would-be Guardians…Is it Morning yet?**

Jeremy and Alaric didn't even bother trying to go back to sleep that night.

When Jeremy was done explaining his…_experience_…Alaric stood slowly and turned away from him; bringing both hands up to his unshaven face, beginning at his chin, before rubbing his eyes and making his way through his tousled hair. He was thoughtful; he was concerned; but he was definitely _not bored._ It suddenly seemed weird to Ric that Isobel had been so into all this supernatural stuff when they were married and he hadn't known a thing about it. It had just made up absolutely no part of his life. It was weird that he had thought that she was just weird – _quirky_ – and it was weird that Ric could now barely remember a time when his world didn't seem to revolve around vampires and witches and werewolves and doppelgangers…_and body-snatching, and Aztec-but-not-really-Aztec Curses and re-animation of the dead…._Turning back to face Jeremy, he let out an audible sigh. _So, what? Now we had ghosts too? Hell, why not?_ Alaric had learned the hard way not to take anything for granted.

"Do you think they were ghosts?"

Still on the couch, Jeremy looked up, "I honestly don't know _what _they were."

"But, you're sure that you saw them?"

"Oh, yeah – I'm totally sure."

"But, they didn't – they couldn't _touch_ you, right?"

Jeremy thought a moment. "They didn't, no…

"We should call Bonnie."

Jeremy bristled, "It's probably not a big deal, Ric….Like maybe it's just some kind of residual…something…from me dying – or from the spell, or something…."

Alaric crossed his arms across his chest and really looked at Jeremy. "What are you saying? You think this is just going to clear up on its own?" _These Gilbert kids could reeeally take a lot on faith…_

"I don't know…but, I am tired of having to be rescued all the time…"

Alaric's eyes narrowed at Jeremy, but he waited.

"…_And_ I know that that spell probably took _a lot_ out of Bonnie – and I know how she is. And, if she thinks that something's wrong with me – she's not gonna let it go – and she's gonna wear herself out trying to fix it. I can't let her do that – at least, not yet."

_He's not wrong about that._ Alaric had seen Bonnie in action last night. And he had to agree that it had probably taken its toll. "So, you want to give her some recovery time?"

"Yeah, no…First I want to see if this just wears off – or, maybe I was hallucinating or something…All I'm saying is: I don't want to worry Bonnie until we know for sure that there's a problem."

_Again. Taking a lot on faith – _It was more than Alaric himself could do; sure he had had a "magic ring" for a while – but, he didn't go out of his way to test it. Still, Alaric could feel his resolve crumbling around him. "Maybe we should find out what Elena thinks when she gets home."

Jeremy's eyes widened almost comically as he very nearly jumped up and off the couch and closed the distance between himself and Alaric: "Oh no, no….no way. We are _not_ telling Elena. She'll totally freak out – you don't even _know_. She'll be completely all over Bonnie for answers, and she won't let me out of her sight_…ever."_ Emphasis: Jeremy's.

Alaric thought that maybe, given Jeremy's propensity for getting himself killed, injured and bitten by vampires that this was not the worst thing. Ric sat back down, found his watch again in the light of the encroaching morning and strapped it to his wrist. "So," He began, " What you're saying is, is that you don't want to tell anybody."

"Right."

_Sure. _That made – absolutely no sense to Alaric_; Have a huge supernatural problem? Don't tell your supernaturally-inclined friends as they might be able to help you. _Alaric shook his head – overcome with the notion that this was a really, really bad idea. "And you really think this is a good idea?"

"Ric – I appreciate your concern, really. Just give me a few days, okay? Maybe nothing else will happen. I might not even see them again."

"But…"

"Please. Just a few days."

Alaric actually felt the moment his inner resolve – _and all his sense_ – left him. He leaned back against the sofa, inhaled slowly, closed his eyes and paused. _Really _bad idea_. _He exhaled, again slowly and opened his eyes. "And you'll tell me if it happens again?"

Jeremy smiled. "Ric – you're the best."

_Yes, that is exactly what he was – 'the best'._ He stood up and placed on hand on Jeremy's shoulder – "You'll tell me if it happens again." It was less of a question this time.

Jeremy nodded at the closest thing that he had to a guardian and he promised.

"I just don't want anything (_else_) to happen to you, Jeremy."

"Thanks, Ric."

Alaric nodded wearily, and let his hand drop to his side. "You hungry? I'm hungry," – and thirsty…._really, really thirsty_ – "Maybe we should scare up some breakfast." _Maybe there was a beer or four in the 'fridge. _ Ric didn't consider himself a morning drinker, but if it wasn't quite morning yet – then technically it was still last night, right? And last night had been a rough one.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Front Door and Parlour of the Salvatore Boarding House.<strong>

Caroline paused at the door to the Boarding House. She hadn't known when she left her house that she would come here, but it kind of made sense. She assumed that Bonnie would be with Jeremy tonight after everything that had happened. If _she_ was Jeremy's girlfriend –_uh,_ _weird –for her, not for Bonnie – for Bonnie it was totally awesome _– _she_ wouldn't let him out of her sight. She supposed that she had thought that she could talk to Stefan about the situation with her mother – he would understand, and plus, he was a really good listener; Caroline thought fondly of Stefan's: 'I'm a sensitive Vampire' face; and she smiled.

Now that she was here though, she hesitated, suddenly remembering about Damon. She was kind of shocked that it had slipped her mind, but then, so much had happened.

Stefan must be devastated…and Elena was probably here too.

She considered: On the one hand, Damon was dying – _or dead_ – and she should pay her respects. On the other hand: Damon was an ass and a jerk and not a good person and he had treated her like crap. On the _other_ other hand: Damon had helped to rescue Caroline from demented hillbilly werewolves and their Winnebago of torture; and more recently, had rescued her _and_ Tyler from being sacrificed by Klaus _and_ he had taken the hit when Tyler was about to pounce on Caroline. Also: He didn't make a big deal when he found out that Matt knew everything. Also: He was Stefan's brother. _And_ Elena seemed to care about him. _For some reason_. The list was stacking up surprisingly high in Damon's favor. _Huh. Okay, then._

Caroline had finally decided to let herself in, when the door opened suddenly from the inside and Damon was there looking…_well, Damon-y_…except for that Caroline hadn't seen him shirtless in really, really long time and he looked kind of…_perfectly healthy, by the way…_standing in the doorway looking at her as if he expected her to be someone else. Disappointment had obviously made Damon grumpy.

Hearing what he thought might have been (less than) stealthy movements coming from just outside and hoping, somehow, that it was Stefan come home safe as houses to save them all the trouble of finding him – though not really expecting it; Damon had sped from his bedroom where he had been holed up – thinking – ever since Elena had finally gone to sleep. He honestly hadn't expected to see any action this soon and he was both pretty tanked and dressed for bed in low slung black sleep pants with his dark hair tousled and wild and sticking up at odd angles. But, as he was determined to be prepared for anything from Katherine to Klaus to Satan himself in a Sunday dress - Damon had thrown open the door, his blue eyes searching and startlingly pale in the stark porch light; his senses primed and his body tensed for a fight. Seeing Caroline there, instead of anyone who could possibly pose a threat to him…_ever…_the tension left him and he relaxed into a languid lean against the side of the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his head canted to the side, a small mocking smile gracing his handsome face. "Barbie," Damon tried to sound matter-of-fact as he nodded in greeting, his bright eyes sparkling with an almost profane irreverence. "Surprised to see me?"

"Damon!" Caroline chirped, "You're not dead!" Caroline lowered her voice as she continued – a hint of reproach finding its way into her tone, as she narrowed her eyes at him, "You're not dead. You don't even look _sick_!" Actually, Caroline thought that he looked remarkably…_healthy…_ as her eyes dropped briefly to his chest instinctively before she yanked them decisively back up to his face. "...Why aren't you dead?"

"See something you like?"

"Eww, no!" _Eww. _"Don't flatter yourself, Damon." People who sucked as much as Damon did – really did not deserve to be so good-looking.

Damon took her in with his eyes, his wry smile veering ever so slightly into menacing territory. "One: I am dead, and so are you – deal with it; two: I got better; and three: _You're_ mother tried to _kill_ me tonight. Right now, neither points one or two much concern me – so, let's talk about point number three, shall we?" He extricated himself from his pose blocking the entrance and stood to the side, silently ordering Caroline in to the house.

Damon escorted Caroline inside and sat her down on the couch and waited.

Caroline sat, but continued to fidget, playing absently with the accessory scarf she wore around her neck as she looked around her, nervous to find herself alone with a volatile and half naked Damon, - _Been_ _there, done that_ – she suppressed a small shudder. "Where's Stefan?"

Damon's eyes narrowed, all pretense to good humor having long been forgotten, "Liz knows. _Again_. I do not have _time_ for this, Caroline."

Caroline made up her mind to not be intimidated – Not after the night that she had had. She stood to face him, "Look. I didn't even come here to talk to you – I was looking for Stefan…or Elena, if she's here…. And…I'm glad you're not dead and everything – but…wait," she paused. "_How_ are you not dead? I thought Tyler bit you?

"He did." Damon paused and started to walk away, deliberately refusing to elaborate.

"…And, you're okay, because…?"

"Apparently," he drawled with a distant and studied nonchalance over his shoulder, "there _is_ a cure."

Caroline accepted this, but didn't press. Something in Damon's voice suggested to her that this wasn't something that he wanted to talk about. Instead she broached another subject, in a quiet but determined voice: "Are you going to kill Tyler?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not, but…You can't kill him, Damon."

_Fine. We'll get this out of the way. _Damon turned and shot Caroline a probing look. "Is he going to bite me again?"

"No! No, no, no way! He doesn't want to hurt anyone! Klaus was the only reason that Tyler hadn't already locked himself up…and, and I will make sure – I'll lock him up myself if I have to…"

"Is he gonna squeal?"

Caroline snorted, "To who? My mom already knows about all of us – including Tyler, I think – and anyway – he has just as much to lose."

Damon chewed this over, one hand raking up through his unkempt hair. Tyler Lockwood was, honestly, the least of his concerns at the moment. He was supernatural, and therefore could not be compelled, but Barbie and Elena seemed to like him. And, strangely – Damon found that he himself didn't feel particularly stabby-stabby towards the young werewolf. Plus, the sudden disappearance of the Mayor's only son – well..._that_ would bring _a lot_ of unwanted attention – especially considering what had happened with Mason.

His decision having been made, Damon turned on his heel and made his way out silently of the room; leaving Caroline to stew. Caroline chewed her lip nervously, waiting for an answer. Where the hell were Stefan and Elena? They would back her up on this. No way was she gonna let Damon kill Tyler…

* * *

><p>With the Tyler Lockwood question squared away in his head – <em>for now<em> – Damon's mind turned back to other matters. Although Damon had had Stefan on his mind for the most part, he couldn't just ignore the situation with Liz. They couldn't afford any more unexpected surprises. His memory of last night was hazy – but, he was under the distinct impression that the sheriff had tried to shoot him. No, he decided, now would be as good a time as any. Except for the faint dull throb assaulting the back of his head – likely the cumulative lingering after-effects of too much booze, getting vervained by Ric in the cellar earlier, ramming his head repeatedly into his bed board while cursing Stefan, getting waaay too 'soul search-y' with Elena in that emotional binge-and-purge session a few hours ago, and almost dying a horrible and excruciating death. _Yesterday had been a very bad_ _day_. He opened the 'fridge and grabbed a blood bag.

But, Elena had forgiven him. That was something. And she had kissed him. That was something…else_. _Yeah, okay, it had been a death-bed kiss. …A mournful, tender, and slightly open-mouthed death-bed kiss... And there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Caroline heard the beeps and pings of a microwave coming from the kitchen, as she made to follow Damon, "Damon, you can't just…." Damon called back to her roughly, cutting her off, "Stay," he growled, "sit."

Caroline was not a happy puppy and she fumed inwardly – but, she stayed. And she sat. Miraculously surviving a werewolf bite had certainly not done a thing for Damon's manners.

When Damon emerged from the kitchen he had a warm mug of blood in either hand. Caroline, while knowing better than to want anything that Damon had to give, couldn't help but eye the second mug longingly. Damon paused directly in front of her, waving the extra mug of blood slowly in front of her face tauntingly. "_Now_, let's talk." Assuming that Damon's relative calmness and desire to change the subject meant that he did not, in fact, want to inflict pain or death on Tyler, Caroline opened her hands, palms up to accept the blood that Damon was offering.

* * *

><p>What seemed like an eternity later – and Damon knew from eternity – Damon attempted to rouse himself from his Caroline-induced stupor; honestly hoping that Caroline was finally coming to her point. She had been making the argument that they <em>not<em> kidnap Liz, flush the vervaine out of her system and compel the hell out of her.

"…And I really think we can make it work this time Damon."

Aware of the sudden silence in the room, Damon, ears ringing, stirred from his position, draped over his favorite armchair and turned his attention back to Caroline: "Make _what_ work, Caroline?" _What was she even talking about anymore_?

"Me and my Mom. I think we can…."

"That's great, Barbie. I'm _really_ happy for you. Tell me again why I should listen to anything you say?"

"Look, Damon – Were you even listening to anything I just said? My mother was _really_ freaked out by what happened tonight. She knows that she doesn't know everything – she's _really_ confused, but I just don't think that she wants to hurt anyone…."

"She certainly seemed like she wanted to hurt me."

"Yeah, well that was before…."

"That was _last night."_ Damon almost erupted, feeling himself reaching the limits of his patience. Caroline could be truly exasperating.

"Yes. But. That was _before,"_ Caroline tried again, her voice dripping with implied meaning.

_Oh, for fucks' sake_ – Damon seriously considered just throttling her meaning right out of her: "Before _what_?"

"Before she killed Jeremy."

Damon froze; his eyes wide with shock, fury and something like terror. Jeremy. Damon had been at the Grill with Jeremy and then Liz tried to kill him, and then Damon hadn't been there anymore. He'd been wandering and then Katherine…_What the fuck had happened last night? _No – not Katherine – he'd been with Elena. He stood abruptly and glanced without thinking in the direction of the staircase.

Elena….

He didn't know. _Well_, o_f course, he didn't know, he was busy dying_… Immediately realizing her mistake; Caroline scrambled off the sofa: "He's okay, Damon! He's alive! Bonnie…brought him back."

Damon's mind stilled. _Bonnie could _do _that? _Sure, he had seen Bonnie do a lot of things – but…bringing someone _back from the dead_? And without any kind of creepy, weird soul-exchange bullshit? _Sucks for John. _Damon had come lately to have something akin to a grudging respect for the judgiest of Elena's judgey little friends, but this was…unexpected. He frowned.

As if sensing the direction of Damon's thoughts, Caroline added, "The dead witches helped. I think."

Elena, being Elena and somewhat buoyed by a few hours of sleep, chose exactly this moment to interrupt the tete a tete taking place downstairs.

"The dead witches helped with what?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Thank You again to those of you who I cannot PM: Broken Memories, Ldy. Bee and Kat – Your reviews make me very happy. And for any lurkers who might be out there: I've been there – I **_**was **_**you until about a week ago! Sometimes, I left reviews and sometimes I didn't. Now I say: go for it! **


	5. The Klaus Plan: Can You Fear Me Now?

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to.**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how I (and Damon) roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: So, I'm going to forgo the alcoholism jokes (just this once, mind you), to really just thank everyone for the some completely astounding reviews – some of which I know were quite likely more than I deserve. But, if you are enjoying the story, then I am happy. Also: Apparently, my Klaus is a big, ol' lion-faced narcissist – I hope he doesn't disappoint too much. Introducing new characters makes me nervous. Also: Bonnie. Also: This chapter jumps around quite a bit more than usual to keep up with the goings-on of our intrepid heroes.**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 5: The Klaus Plan: Can You Fear Me Now?**

**Setting: A Moving Train (But, try to think of a nice one – not Amtrak – Unless you really like Amtrak)**

Klaus sat back and watched the budding greens and yellows of an early Mid-Atlantic spring fly by through his compartment window in the dawning morning light – contented for the moment. Klaus doesn't really _do_ contentment, however, so it's more likely that he was only temporarily sated_._

_This._ This was the closest that humans would ever come to understanding what it was to be immortal. Watching the outside world flash by in a blur, changing and evolving around you – a river here, a decimated cedar forest there – and then, gone. While you remained stationary, while you simply _remained_. While you simply _were._

Klaus' pithy reflections came to an end as the train passed briefly underneath an overpass and Klaus caught his own reflection in the darkened glass. Turning his attention back to himself, he removed one arm from the armrest and flexed it; making a fist and then opening and closing it in satisfaction.

Klaus had only ever really had two overarching goals in his long life. One had been to murder his family and the other had been the break that damned curse. Damon Salvatore might say that he was simply trying to live up to his best self. And now, it was done. In a few short days he had both broken the curse and killed his last surviving brother – well, "killed" at any rate.

Elijah. Elijah had, perhaps, been his favorite. Perhaps not. In their younger days Elijah had been affectionate, and therefore malleable, and therefore useful – and loyal, terribly, terribly _loyal_. _It would have been admirable, really – if it hadn't been so foolish; so human. _The trivial vestiges of an existence that was no longer theirs – _vestiges better left to atrophy, Brother._

No, Elijah had believed that he had embraced his true nature – but, he had never truly appreciated it. He insisted on mourning for lost abstracts, and obsolete and irrelevant concepts such as love, family and brotherhood. And it had been his undoing. Klaus knew. Klaus understood that what they had been given was far, far better – the power to take, the power to rend, the power to shape and mold the world around them to their liking – as it suited them. Power; the manifestations of which; were anything but abstract.

Klaus looked towards the forward facing seat across from his own. He looked at a slumped over Stefan Salvatore and smiled – a soft but pitiless smile. He had cruelly vervained young Stefan for – _so many reasons –_ the duration of this trip, at least until it pleased him to have him awake. _We can't have him nipping at the lovely train crew, after all._ But, also – also there was this persistent stoicism about him that it would please Klaus immensely to crush. He wasn't yet truly enjoying himself. This was not yet the Stefan of 1917 – but, Klaus would bring him around. Even as he slept, Klaus could see it. He could see it in the way that the sleeper occasionally twitched restlessly, in the slightly debauched half-smile that would appear, disappear and appear again to transform his features. Klaus wondered with idle curiosity what it was that Stefan dreamt of – perhaps, Monterrey. In the meantime, however, Klaus did not want his conscious self and his noble moping or incessant questioning to mar his private revelry.

No, if there was any draw-back to finally achieving his stated goals – it was that for all his power and invulnerability – Klaus was rather…bored. And _that_ is where Stefan came in. And, if Stefan's friends were foolish enough to come after him – then Klaus would kill them, or torture them, or turn them so that he could torture them indefinitely – or maybe, he would have _Stefan_ do it. That was a thought.

And, there _was_ still Katerina to deal with...

Katerina was _almost_ a worthy adversary. She certainly had a gift for running, for hiding, for blending. But, she was no threat to him…_no one was_…the fun there was in the chase; in the slow but inevitable tightening of the noose.

Klaus had known that Katerina had been nearby; but – where was the fun in simply grabbing her again? She needed to feel secure – _Klaus_ needed her to feel secure. He contemplated with a certain sense of self-satisfaction that he would _always_ be a step ahead of her now. And when Klaus grew tired of the chase – he now he had a _new_ form of torment at his disposal; he could simply bite her, infect her with his sickness and watch her writhe with anxiety, pain and delirium; heal her with his blood – and then begin the process anew. Perhaps, she would relive the slaughter of her human family…

Perhaps too, if more …_traditional…_ methods did not have the desired effect; - that might prove to be a good way to truly _break_ Stefan.

So total was Klaus' sense of victory, his sense of his own invulnerability – that even his paranoia had been temporarily hushed. Of course, he would still have to call the Port of Mystic Falls – and his make-shift sentries – _it really was quite a shame that he had lost the services of Maddox and Greta_ – to make the necessary alterations to the shipping arrangements for his 'cargo'. It wouldn't do to be careless.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Boarding House Parlour: Who died?<strong>

"_The dead witches helped with what?"_

Both Caroline and Damon had abruptly turned to stare at her. For once, Elena had gotten the drop on the vampires – apparently too preoccupied to remember their super-hearing.

Elena had looked innocently across from one to the other – feeling acutely the strange and heavy silence that seemed to fall over them; blossoming and deepening ominously. Damon had looked thoughtful, as a flicker of uncertainty rippled quickly through his features before giving over to a steely resolution and determination; tempered and softened just a little by the concern Elena could see around his eyes. That concern probably did more to terrify Elena than anything else. Caroline…well, Caroline looked like…she had already said too much and didn't immediately meet Elena's eyes.

Elena made the obvious leap. "What is it? Has something happened to Stefan? Caroline – have you heard something about Stefan?"

Caroline had already lifted her eyes to Elena's – knowing that her information had to be delivered quickly and accurately. She was _not_ going to make that mistake again. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again immediately, cut to the quick by Elena's words, a tiny frown of confusion gathering around her brow:

"Stefan? – What's wrong with Stefan? Why would I have heard about…."

"Caroline," Damon interrupted her with a note of warning in his voice. _Someone should _always _be interrupting Caroline. _He would give Elena the news – which wasn't so bad after all, the kid was fine…_probably…_ and Damon really did not want to spend another hour listening to Caroline trying to come to a point.

Caroline was silenced; and Damon turned to face Elena. "Elena – everyone is fine. Jeremy is fine – but, there was an accident," Damon tried for reassuring – but, there was no getting around the actual phrasing required to be truthful.

"Damon…," Elena began; her tone flat but layered with suppressed emotion – all her attention focused on him: "What. Happened."

"Elena, Jeremy is really fine – totally alive and fine," – Caroline tossed in, recognizing the tone in her friend's voice.

Damon threw Caroline a withering glare, showing the whites of his expressive eyes, and approached Elena. "The sheriff shot Jeremy. He…"

Elena looked from Damon to Caroline and back again, her lip beginning to tremble as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, "Oh my god…" She started to back up with small uncertain steps.

Damon continued undeterred, and as he did he took Elena's hand away from her face and held it in his own, using the other to cup her cheek and force her to meet his gaze. "Elena – look at me. He's fine. Jeremy is fine. The sheriff shot him, and…he…died, but Bonnie brought him back." Damon was still having some trouble processing that part of the story himself.

Elena had tears in her eyes now. "What do you mean he – _died_?" She stared intently at Damon, allowing his touch; Caroline forgotten.

"It was an accident Elena. I am _so_ sorry – but, he _is_ okay now," Caroline offered softly.

Suddenly recalled to her friend's presence, Elena turned her large and dilated eyes on Caroline; she shook off Damon's hand impatiently, took a step towards the blond vampire; addressing her: "Where is he? Have you seen him? Have you spoken to him? How do you know he's okay?"

"I…I spoke to Bonnie – she called me. She and Alaric took him home last night…._after_."

Elena spun on Damon: "I have to go home. Right Now."

Damon nodded quickly in assent and turned to Caroline; "Barbie – you have your car with you?"

"Um, yeah. Sure."

"Good. You take Elena home. I will meet you there."

Caroline promptly began fishing her car keys out of her handbag; "Of course, but Damon – where…?"

"Never mind Caroline – just get her home _now."_ It was an order, and Damon would brook no argument. Caroline just nodded and tried to put an arm gently around Elena, attempting to lead her outside and to the car.

Elena rebelled somewhat at Caroline's touch, breaking her silence of the last few moments; "Damon?" It was a question and a plea – and Damon felt it everywhere.

"I have to take care of something, Elena. Go home. Check on your brother. I'll be right behind you."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Damon's Chevy, Cruising the Streets of Mystic Falls.<strong>

Less than fifteen minutes later Damon had seen the girls off; had dressed and was now on his way to pay the witch a little visit.

Damon hadn't wasted much time getting out of the house that morning – understanding instinctively that they were in a race against time where Stefan was concerned. He didn't know – _couldn't even fathom –_what Klaus could want with him – but, whatever it was – it couldn't be good. They needed all of their ducks in a row, and fast.

Now, comfortable that he was taking action, however, he navigated the streets leading to Bonnie's house carelessly; wearing sunglasses and a broad grin. He hadn't called ahead, instead anticipating a small pleasure in taking Bonnie by surprise – maybe even waking her up. He didn't actually _want_ a brain aneurism, but he enjoyed it immensely when she _wanted_ to give him one. Their relationship had mellowed out a little – they had come to their own brand of _understanding_ during the Klaus showdown…at least regarding Elena – but that didn't mean that Damon couldn't still have some fun with her.

Pushing aside all happy thoughts of future Bonnie-baiting; Damon called Alaric.

Ric had been silent for a beat after he answered his phone – and Damon had almost entirely forgotten that he was supposed to be dead. "Damon?" he had heard Ric's voice, questioning and slightly incredulous.

"Riiiic," Damon drew out his…_friend's_…name so that you could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Where are you? Where's Elena?" Ric's rapid-fire but concerned voice floated up to Damon. Vampire Barbie wasn't the only one who could talk hands-free.

"Relax, Ric – I'm not delirious and I'm _not_ out feasting on the blood of the locals if that's what you're worried about," One of Damon's eyebrows lifted above the rim of his dark glasses as he eyed the phone on the dash as though it were Alaric, "and, Elena is on her way home right now." Damon paused, his eyes back on the road, his smirk gone, "And, she is probably going to have a lot of questions when she gets there…"

There was another brief silence on the other end, and Damon could feel Ric gathering his thoughts.

"Is he okay, Ric?"

"Yeah…I mean…he's alive," Ric hesitated.

"Ric?" Damon prodded, his tone becoming severe. "What aren't you telling me?"

Ric sidestepped, "Are you coming here?"

"Yeah. Soon. I have a _little_ errand to run first." Damon smiled again as he gripped the steering wheel maneuvering into a right turn.

"Good. I'm gonna need to talk to you later."

"Complications?" Damon's smile faded again as he eyed the phone sharply.

"Complications." Alaric confirmed grimly.

"Great. Well, I've got some _complications_ to fill you in on too."

"Can't wait."

Damon nodded absently. He liked Alaric. Always up for action; never requiring a lot of words to get there. What's more: Damon found that he actually _trusted_ Alaric. When you kill a man _and_ turn his wife– and he still has your back…well…Damon vaguely supposed that that was what you would call friendship. Also: the man could really hold his liquor. He was genuinely sorry for Ric that Jenna had ended up being collateral damage in the Klaus debacle. He shook it off.

"Damon?"

"Ric?"

"You good?"

"I'll live."

"Right." Damon noted the hint of relief evident in Alaric's voice - Ric wasn't generally a big emoter and Damon was grateful – it was another point in Ric's favor – before yanking the hands-free out of his ear and ending the call.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Inside and Outside Bonnie Bennett's House; Because, Apparently She <strong>_**Has**_** One: Early Morning.**

Bonnie was the only member of the ragtag and improbably affiliated group of friends and sometimes reluctant allies in Mystic Falls that was actually sleeping in that morning. Her rest was a bit uneasy at times; however, as her ancestors warnings assaulted her subconscious.

Damon could see the distress written plainly in her expression from his perch on the narrow ledge outside, as she slept facing the window. Damon could also plainly see her cell phone, charging on the night stand next to her bed on the opposite side. Waking her up would obviously be doing her a favor. He fished his own phone out of his pocket – a move which required some dexterity given his cat-like crouch and precarious purchase – and smiled as he scrolled through his contact list. Finding her name near the bottom – under 'Witchy' as opposed to 'Bonnie;' – he pressed the call button and watched as her phone rang, the accompanying vibrations causing it to jerk and twitch on the table.

Bonnie, rousing from her restless sleep turned over onto her stomach and slid herself groggily across the bed and towards the offending phone. As she tossed off the covers and reached out, Damon noticed her skimpy, pale pink sleep tank – with just a little lace trim around the neckline, and he was dimly appreciative – _in theory_ anyway. Elena never seemed to wear lacy PJ's. Elena was all cotton, all the time. Then again, Damon thought: thin, form-fitted cotton had its appeal.

The incessant ringing had to stop – Bonnie _willed_ it to stop, but apparently she hadn't learned a spell for that …_yet_ – _although, maybe there _was_ one in one of the Martin's grimoires – _so, instead she just answered it, still too bleary-eyed to check the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Judgey."

"Damon? ...Is that you?" Bonnie held the phone away from ear for a moment, and sure enough, 'Jackass' was calling, "Umpff…what do you want, Damon?"

"And a good morning to you too, Sunshine."

"What do you want?" she repeated darkly, "...And…why aren't you dead?"

_Why did everyone keep asking him that like it was a Bad Thing?_ Damon knit his brows slightly, one brow rising above the other, he frowned a small and bemused, but fleeting frown. "I want you to turn around."

"What? Why?" But, even as she was asking, Bonnie left the warm comfort of her bed and started to turn. "Damon!" Bonnie cried out in angry surprise when she saw him balanced outside her window; watching her with that smug cat that ate the canary smile that he had. Without thinking, she violently chucked her phone at the open window and fumed. Damon ducked quickly, allowing the phone to fly harmlessly out the window past him as a huge ear to ear smirk overtook his face, his eyes lighting up in amusement.

"Now, now Bonnie," Damon smarmed and pouted around his smile, "Is that any way to treat the gravely ill? I'm hurt."

Irritated beyond belief and suddenly conscious of her very skimpy top, one slinky strap hanging down on her shoulder, Bonnie briefly considered setting Damon on fire as she made a dash for her robe hanging on the inside of her bedroom door. As she tied the blue terrycloth belt firmly around her waist; she turned back to Damon, deciding that it wouldn't be worth the damage to the house.

Damon just smiled wider as she scrambled to cover herself up. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Bonnie just stood there, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, her eyes fixing on him with barely suppressed ire, "Go to Hell, Damon."

"So…that's a 'no' then?" one eyebrow shot up in query.

"I don't understand," and she really didn't, "Do you _want_ an aneurism?"

Another flash of amusement crossed Damon's eyes, but he suppressed his laughter as he held up the hand still holding onto his cell phone in mock supplication.

Bonnie backed up and sat down on the foot of her bed as she waited impatiently for Damon to explain himself.

Damon almost sighed, knowing that fun-time was over and his face and tone became serious. "I heard about last night."

Bonnie's eyes widened slightly with a genuine surprise that was reflected in her voice, "You came about _that?_"

"No. Not really."

"Then, why?"

Damon paused, unsure where even to begin. _Katherine or Stefan, Stefan or Katherine_? Finally: "Stefan's gone."

Bonnie's head tilted to one side, her enmity forgotten and her interest piqued, "What do you mean: 'Stefan's gone'?"

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><p><strong>AN 2: Whew! There sure were a lot of phone calls and moving vehicles in that chapter. (Too bad *I* don't get paid for Product Placement – I could tell you that they were all using LG's and make a killing!) I practically got whip-lash writing it. I didn't exactly plan it that way – but, the characters want to get this story going, I think.**


	6. Getting Your Ducks in a Row

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to.**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how I (and Damon) roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: So, you know the drill – thank you guys so much for your awesome comments and reviews. I began this story on a whim, late one night while my manager was away at a conference and work was light; no plot, no outline, no direction – and it has pretty much taken on a life of its own (not to mention taken over *my* life); and that has been in large part because of the interest you guys have showed. You forced me to actually **_**write**_** a **_**story.**_** Expectations are a bitch. ;) **

**Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy the ride…**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 6: Getting Your Ducks in a Row.**

**Setting: Sheriff Forbes Office: Successfully Protecting the Town of Mystic Falls from Vampires Since …Never.**

Liz Forbes had decided to come into the office a little earlier than usual. With everything that was going on – and she assumed that there was _a lot_ going on that she didn't know about – she had been antsy sitting at home alone over her morning coffee.

And, Caroline had not come home.

No, she preferred to slip into the comfort of her uniform and reassert some kind of control over the situation – so, here she was digging through all the old records that she could find in the town archives about Stefan and Damon Salvatore. The original and _actual_ Salvatore brothers.

But, the sheriff was afraid that it was a losing proposition. There was very little information about them at all, and what little there was seemed to dry up suddenly in 1864. Now, 1864 had been a big year for the Founder's and for the town and their concurrent disappearance was suggestive. However, there just wasn't anything to indicate that they didn't die on the night of the 1864 vampire round-up.

Of course, Liz thought suddenly, they probably _did_ die that night. They just didn't _stay_ dead… But, they must have left town immediately – as there was no mention of their turning in any of the founder's journals that _she_ had seen. And she believed that she had seen them all. The sheriff considered that if there was anyone who might know more than she did – it was probably John Gilbert. She would not put it past the man to hoard information just to make himself indispensable – _like that weird ring that he had that Damon had said would bring him back to life_ - but she _had_ thought that if he knew the town was in danger that he would come forward. From what Liz understood – his niece was in deep_._ He must know that. So, where was he? Liz had tried to reach him several times already this morning, but had had no success.

She also believed that she had gotten as much of the story as she was going to get from Matt Donovan – and after last night, Liz did not want to involve any more civilians than was absolutely necessary and certainly no children that weren't already irrevocably implicated. She shuddered, remembering taking the life of sixteen year old Jeremy Gilbert.

Feeling frustrated and stymied at every turn, Liz let her head rest on her hands, her elbows propped on the surface of her desk, as she studied the – _useless –_ documents spread out before her. According to the records Damon had fought in the Civil War and survived. Liz paused. She was used to knowing that vampires existed, used to viewing them as killers and nothing more - she was considerably less accustomed to knowing them, to knowing their history's, to considering their human lives and all the things that they had seen. And Stefan had been a child by today's standards.

Like Caroline.

Sheriff Forbes fought back the sorrow that threatened to engulf her whenever she thought about Caroline and pushed herself up out of her chair. She ran her hands through her short blond hair to clear out the cobwebs and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee from a small four cup capacity machine that she kept on a side table in her office. It was a little anti-social, but the station's shared coffee was of less than stellar quality. This is where Liz kept the good stuff – her own private stash. She sat back down, opened a drawer and removed a small vial filled with a clear liquid – Vervain – and added it to her drink. She was never so happy to have it as she was right now…The sheriff's thoughts trailed off and once again her mind was sent into a tailspin – remembering that she had _Damon Salvatore_ to thank for the herb.

Liz had no reason to believe that it wasn't authentic – it certainly smelled like Vervain – but, it wasn't as though she could seek out an unconnected vampire and _test_ it…. She hesitated for a moment, but she had been drinking this stuff for months already and didn't see the sense in stopping now – although, she might want to look into finding a new supplier.

Every new realization hit Liz with the force of a sledge-hammer; and she quickly decided to abandon the archive search and instead concentrate on figuring out what she already _knew_ and just didn't realize that she knew. She tried to cast her mind back but she only found more questions there: Vicki Donovan, Logan Fell, Coach Tanner, the disappearance of Mason Lockwood, campers, the town druggies…Who knew how much they might be responsible for. And what about Zach Salvatore? Where the hell has _he_ been all this time?

And yet: Damon had taken care of the Fell 'situation' – had saved Caroline from him - hadn't he? And he had taken down that blond vampire at the Grill…had possibly stopped what might have otherwise been a fatal attack on Amber on the night of the Miss Mystic Falls pageant – here the sheriff made a mental note to herself that Bonnie and Elena had been present for that incident, and should possibly be questioned…. Damon had _showed_ her a dead vampire in the trunk of his car after a spate of terrible and brutal attacks – attacks which ended that night.

Liz shook her head in rueful wonder at the situation in which she found herself. And if Caroline were to be believed then there were even _worse_ things out there. Things which might take precedence over bringing down the Salvatores, _if_ they needed to be brought down – things which might even make it prudent to work _with_ them. And, as horrible as that thought was – a part of Liz still wanted it to be true, because she wanted to believe Caroline…to believe _in_ Caroline…to accept her.

But first, she needed answers. And this time, Liz was going to go straight to the source.

She picked up her cell phone and pressed two buttons, suddenly all too aware of the irony of her having Damon Salvatore's number on her speed-dial.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Caroline's Fabulous Ford Focus – Everyone should have one.<strong>

Elena was being quiet. Elena was being really quiet and Caroline was worried. And somewhat unnerved. It was a full and unsettling silence that threatened to smother her. It defied even Caroline's usual affinity for filling in silences with her openness and unrestrained warmth. And it was something that Caroline felt utterly helpless against.

Elena had barely said a word since she and Caroline had left Damon behind at the Boarding House. She had called Jeremy immediately, on Caroline's cell phone – Elena's having been forgotten in the confusion and urgency of earlier. She had spoken to him – and was satisfied that he was alive. But, she hadn't asked him about what happened – not over the phone. Elena didn't know what or how to feel. She was distantly aware of vying emotions crawling around under the surface of her skin like parasites, waiting to eat her alive if she released them into the world; fear, terror, confusion, gratitude, relief and anger. There was definitely anger there.

Caroline screwed up her courage, her cheery voice only a forced shadow; her cadence tempered with concerned apprehension: "So, uh, you spoke to Jeremy?"

"Yeah," Elena answered – but, she remained remote; her eyes fixed on an indeterminate point on the horizon.

It wasn't much, but Caroline knew that she had to try: "Well. How did he sound?"

Elena shifted in her seat and turned somber and ominous brown eyes on Caroline, meeting her bright blues; "Caroline – I want you to tell me everything that you know about what happened last night."

Caroline's eyes returned to the road and she took a deep breath. "I wasn't there to see it. I didn't actually _see_ it happen." She glanced quickly over at Elena and back again to the streets, uncomfortable.

"Caroline, please."

Caroline carefully shielded her eyes from Elena's probing, demanding and severe gaze, instead adjusting the car mirror, and concentrating harder than she needed to on her driving. She understood that Elena wanted to know – _needed_ to know. Elena _always_ needed to know. But, Caroline didn't know how to tell her, literally did not know how to open her mouth again, form words, and tell Elena _again_ that her mother had killed her brother. Caroline's own eyes began to burn with unshed tears from what she _had_ seen last night – Jeremy dead, her mother a killer, Bonnie distraught….

She shook her head softly, her hands grip on the steering wheel tightening, her long blond hair falling down around her in waves. "Elena – I tried…I _tried_ to save Jeremy. I saw him lying there…and I saw my mother…and I _tried_ to save him…and I couldn't. It was too late." Caroline's shoulders started to shake with unleashed emotion, and her voice began to tremble with everything that she had been holding back, "I couldn't save him, Elena – I am _so_ sorry…"

Seeing her warm and feeling and devastated friend – Elena remembered herself – and she remembered how nurturing her anger and resentments for so long had done no good, and in fact, had done much harm. And she had only just let go. Instead, she thought of Caroline now; strong, resilient, beautiful, generous and caring Caroline. Caroline – whose life was almost forfeit during the sacrifice because of the choices that _Elena_ had made. She wasn't responsible for her mother. She wasn't responsible for what had happened to Jeremy. Elena slid over as far as she could to be close to her and placed a hand on Caroline's shoulder, her own eyes bright with moisture. "I'm sorry, Care…"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Bonnie's Front Porch: Still No Parents.<strong>

Bonnie had not capitulated. She flat-out refused to let Damon into her home. She wasn't afraid of him anymore – she had come too far into her own as a witch for that. And she even – _mostly_ – trusted that he wouldn't hurt her anyway. But, unless someone's life was literally on the line - there was no way that she was going to give Damon the satisfaction of an invitation. She shuddered at the idea of Damon Salvatore having free and unfettered access in and out of her house, of possibly meeting her father, of taking her by surprise in new and creative and irritating ways.

She had thrown on a pair of jeans over her sleep shorts, grabbed a warm cup of coffee from the kitchen and met him out on the front porch, where she sat on a painted wooden bench. while Damon leaned heedlessly back against the railing; it's bright white paint contrasting sharply with his his shiny dark hair, glasses and black leather jacket;with the sun reflecting of off it all creating an almost dazzling effect.

Bonnie looked away.

She was solemn now; and disturbed by what she had just heard. To turn himself over to Klaus; to give up Elena…to give up his entire life here – that was…

"Dumb, I know." Damon added, his back bent slightly backwards on the banister, his head thrown back to look up aimlessly into the sky above, as though he was following along with her thoughts

Bonnie had known that Stefan was loyal to Damon – that he had risked his own life to save Damon from the fire on Founder's Day,- but she was still a little shocked by the lengths that Stefan had gone to, to save his brothers' life. Especially since that brother was _Damon_. But, then again – family was family, and Bonnie understood that. She roused herself from her meditations: "So. What is it that you want me to do?"

Damon's gaze returned to Bonnie as he hopped backwards up onto the railing and sat; "I need you to use some of your witchy Bennett juju."

Bonnie rolled her eyes; "Yeah, Damon - I got that part. But, what did you have in mind?"

_Did he have to think of Everything? _Damon shrugged carelessly; "_You're_ the witch. _You're_ the one with a thousand and one dead-witch cookbooks at your disposal; not to mention a bunch of _actual_ dead witches. Make them and yourself useful - I'm sure that _they _have nothing better to do."

Bonnie glared, her eyes filled with a special venom that she reserved solely for Damon, "They won't help."

Damon's voice became dangerous as he leaned in towards Bonnie, his hands tightly gripping the railing behind him: "Then _make_ them help."

Bonnie sighed, remembering their warning, remembering their dark promise of 'consequences'; "I can't."

Seemed like she had made them help last night. "What _can_ you do, _witch_?"

Bonnie considered her options. This was really her life now. Less than a year ago her Grams was alive, and Bonnie had thought that she was a little crazy and had maybe hit the sauce a little too much, a little too often – and now _this._ Her cousin Lucy had told her that she was exactly where she belonged, and Bonnie hoped fervently that that was true – because she couldn't see a way out of it. Lord knows she had tried to stay out of it. She hesitated, "I can look into a locator spell..."

Damon clapped his hands together in mock encouragement – "There you go." It was a start, anyway.

"…But," Bonnie cut back in quickly, "I can't promise that it will work the same way on vampires that it does on humans. I used Jeremy's blood to find Elena…your blood is _different_…your bodies don't exactly make their own – I don't know if you and Stefan would have enough common elements, biological markers…"

Damon frowned slightly; he could see the logic, - _for starters he didn't have any squirrel blood_ _running through his veins_ - but he figured that they had nothing to lose, "It's worth a shot."

"Maybe I can use a blended locator spell. I should have something _of_ Stefan's in addition to your blood…something that belongs to him…," Bonnie pondered out loud, intrigued in spite of herself at the prospect of trying something new.

"Sounds good, I'll send Elena over later with his copy of the 'Saved by the Bell' special collector's edition DVD's. What else you got?"

Bonnie shot Damon a look: "Something that is _close_ to him, Damon. Like something that he wears or has on or near his person…."

It was Damon's turn to roll his eyes; "Fine. I'll send _Elena_ over later. – What _else_?"

"I'll have to go through the grimoires…"

Damon launched himself off of the railing;"Great, I'll help – or better yet, get your _boyfriend_ to help you." That way Bonnie could keep an eye on him and the biggest threat to him would be getting a paper cut – _even_ Jeremy couldn't manage to die from a paper cut. "So, you want some of my blood?" Damon asked suggestively, requisite brow raised, as he brought his left wrist up to his mouth.

Bonnie rolled her eyes again, disgusted and brought up a hand in protest. "Hold that thought. It's already not a sure thing – but, it will help if it's fresh, and I need to get some things together first. And, I can't do it here – my father's home. I'll set things up and then you…"

Damon thought that at this point, 'getting things together' should _really_ stop being an issue – Bonnie should have herself some kind of Witch Emergency Kit: A Ready-to-go Tote. He paused and his head tilted in genuine surprise: "Your father?"

"Yes, Damon," she answered wearily, "I do _have_ parents, you know."

Damon shrugged again, already losing interest; "If you say so."

"So, I'll set things up, and I'll call you." Bonnie paused. "Does Elena know yet? ...about what happened to Jeremy, I mean?"

"Yeah. Caroline told me, and I told Elena."

"How is she?"

"She'll deal."

Knowing that was all that the response she was going to get, Bonnie fell silent for a beat weighing exactly how much to reveal about last night. She opened her mouth to speak, but Damon motioned for her to be quiet, as he reached into his jeans to pull out his phone. He checked the caller ID and frowned slightly. – _Interesting—._ He let the phone go to voicemail and returned his now fractured attention to Bonnie.

"Well, it's been just _super-fun_, Teen-Witch – but, I have to run: brothers to rescue, people to kill – you know the drill."

"Damon."

"Bonnie."

Damon straightened up and prepared to leave as Bonnie stood; their official business now officially concluded. Damon was already down the front steps, before he turned around to see Bonnie watching him leave: "Oh, one more thing. You know how Stefan and I signed the house legally over to Elena?"

"Of course – it was one of your smarter moves, actually." Bonnie smiled – just a little.

Damon pressed his lips together in a fake and derisive approximation of a smile, "Yeah, well – it worked beautifully until Elena invited Elijah inside."

"What's your point?"

"Katherine got inside. Last night. She was the one who brought the tasty, tasty Klaus-blood."

"What? How?"

Damon's eyes flashed at her underneath his sunglasses and he spoke slowly, careful to enunciate his words; "If I _knew_ that – then I wouldn't be asking _you_." - _Bonnie may be a powerful witch, but a Rhodes Scholar she was not. -_ "Elena is the _only_ one who could have invited her in – and Elena _obviously_ did not."

"Then, how…"

Damon honestly wondered how this bunch even got dressed in the morning without him to tell them how. Maybe if they went to school more often. Then again, maybe they went too much. Damon did not think very highly of the modern American educational system. – _No offense, Ric. _ Besides, he included Stefan in his assessment and God knows Stefan had _decades_ of school under his belt.

"Something must have gone wrong."

Feeling a tiny knot forming in the pit of her stomach – _right next to the one she already had for Jeremy-consequences, - _but also impatient to understand him, Bonnie didn't answer; leveling Damon with her eyes, expectantly.

"She died. She came back. Something went wrong."

Bonnie felt her body go rigid. _Wrong?_ Elena was _wrong?_ Bonnie shook her head emphatically. "No. No, that's impossible. There was nothing wrong with that spell. That was _Emily's_ spell."

"Yeah, well – we all know that _you_ aren't Emily."

Bonnie bristled at the comparison. Damon always managed to get her back up. She took a breath, closed her eyes and mentally counted to ten before answering. "There was nothing wrong with Emily's spell, and there was nothing wrong with the way I performed it. It was fairly simple, actually."

"Obviously."

"I wouldn't even have _had_ to _do_ it – if _you_ hadn't forced your blood on her!"

Damon recoiled slightly, but did not back down, his eyes flaring dangerously behind their dark cover: "You would have done it anyway. Like _you_ would have trusted Elijah's _five hundred year old_ Magic Potion of Not Dying."

Bonnie bit back her temper, "_Elena_ trusted him."

"Oh, because _Elena's_ plan to go ahead with the sacrifice was totally sane, well-thought out and because _trusting Elijah_ turned out _so _well."

Bonnie absolutely hated that Damon had a point. Damon had been right about Elijah in the end, and Bonnie had learned from Caroline later that she and Tyler had been held captive by Klaus too – until…_Damon…_had rescued them. Even in her head, Bonnie had some trouble choking out the words.

"Fine," she said finally. "There was nothing wrong with that spell _or _with how it was done _or_ with Elena," she seethed, "_But_, I will look into it. Maybe I missed something." Everything about that day had been rushed – Elena's uncle-father, John Gilbert had been the one who had brought the spell forward – maybe she hadn't looked as closely as she should have. As far as Bonnie knew, the invitation barrier _should_ have come back up – it was like, if you were in an accident and you flat-lined, but the doctors shocked you back – technically you had died, but… "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Damon drawled, already walking to his car. "Catch you later, _Witch_."

Damon resumed his way to his car, until something in the grass caught his eye and he bent over to pick up Bonnie's discarded cell phone, turned in place unceremoniously tossed it to her; "You stay in touch now."

Surprised, Bonnie just managed to catch her phone through a series of impressive but inelegant contortions, almost dropping her now empty coffee cup in the process. Inspecting the phone for damage, Bonnie was briefly grateful that Nokia's were virtually indestructible, as she cursed Damon aloud for the hundredth time that morning.

Damon didn't pause to watch the spectacle behind him, though he could plainly _hear_ it. Instead, he satisfied himself with making a poised and elegant exit, hands now casually in his pockets, so Bonnie could not see, but only assume his amused smirk as he walked away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Haha! Nokia Product Placement. Seriously, though – I had an old Nokia for a while, one of those clunky, single-piece deals – and I was pretty sure that I could use it to beat off muggers if necessary. Also: this chapter ran a bit long, so the next might be a little shorter than usual.  
><strong>


	7. Coffee And Exposition

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to. Especially, Damon. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how I (and Damon) roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, so I can see that some of the 'Delena' natives are getting restless, and I want to reassure you all that this is not a 'Bamon' fic, but it is a plot-driven (I hope), ensemble piece – and also Stefan only just disappeared Last Night! Lol. I'd like whatever might happen to happen 'organically'. Also: I know that there's kind of a lot of exposition-y chatter in this chapter – but, Katherine is planning another appearance, as is Liz, as well as (at some point) Stefan and Klaus. So, again – I hope the story isn't too slow for everyone; this kind of pacing is fairly new to me – and to quote Logan Fell: "It's been a learn-as-you-go process" – no bundt-cakes or anything. Anyway, I *really* hope this chapter is up to par.**

**Also: As ever, I thank you all for the continuing interest and the reviews – they make my day!**

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 7: Coffee and Exposition – Or the Exposition Chapter**

**Setting: The Gilbert Half-Way House for Functional Alcoholics and Secret Spectres.**

Alaric was sitting alone in the kitchen, pondering the considerable ramifications of having moved to Mystic Falls, with a cup of coffee and a recently unearthed bottle of cognac on the counter, when Caroline and Elena arrived at the house. Ric had found the dusty cognac in an out of the way cabinet and hoped dimly that no one would mind that he had helped himself. He stood up, immediately alert, when he heard the keys in the front door – simultaneously relieved and apprehensive to see Elena and Caroline there. Relieved because, it was _always_ a relief lately to see these kids alive and relatively unharmed, and apprehensive because he knew that Elena would ask him about Jeremy.

The girls quickly scanned the living room before Caroline spotted Alaric and waved, "Hi, Mr. Saltzman." She and Elena had pulled over for a few minutes on the way over and had 'hugged' it out, and Caroline had subsequently recovered some of her usual good humor.

Taking her cue from Caroline, Elena immediately followed her friend's gaze and saw Alaric, his chair pushed back, hovering at the table. She advanced into the kitchen, "Ric. Where is he? Is he okay?"

"Elena. Caroline," he greeted the girls. "He seems okay," –_seems_ being the operative word. Alaric did not like covering this up, especially from Elena – but, he had promised. "He's upstairs taking a shower, I think."

Caroline focused for a moment, tilting one ear up towards the second level of the house before she looked at Elena and confirmed. "He is. I can hear the water running."

Elena smiled weakly at her friend and ran out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Ric with Caroline. She wouldn't be completely comfortable until she saw him for herself.

Caroline looked around a little at a loss. She wasn't as close to Alaric as Damon, Jeremy and Elena. "So," she said, pulling up a chair as Ric reclaimed his own. "Some night, huh?"

Ric grunted softly in concurrence and went in for another mouthful of coffee.

"Are you, like, living here now?"

Alaric choked a little on his coffee. _That_ had definitely _not_ been something that he had considered. _Should_ he be living here now? How would that even work_, exactly_? There were no adults that Ric knew of who could step in to take care of these kids – neither Jeremy nor Elena had come forward with any long-lost relatives that they needed to call. And, certainly none that would understand what it would entail to be their guardian. He thought of Jenna and her unfortunate tendency to invite vampires into the house on an almost daily basis. Jenna. It hadn't been her fault – she had been kept in the dark for far too long. Would Jenna want Ric to take care of her family? Isobel's daughter? ... _Shit._

"Mr. Saltzman – are you okay?" It was just a question.

"Uh, yeah…" Ric tried to shake it off "…yes, Caroline. I'm fine, thank you… Coffee?" He stood abruptly, still rattled and a bit dazed by Caroline's innocuously intended – _and potentially life-altering -_ question. Ric could use a refill himself; he eyed the cognac longingly, wondering if it was unprofessional to drink in front of your (vampire) students.

"Oh, yeah – that would be great." Caroline spared him some of his distress – at least, on _that_ count, as her eyes followed him and she saw the open bottle, adding: "Oh, God – can you put some of whatever that is in mine too?"

Alaric turned and looked at Caroline, hesitant. "How old are you?"

_Um, as old as I am _ever_ gonna be.._. Caroline looked at Ric like he had seven heads, "Really?"

Alaric just grabbed another mug out of the dish drain. _Right. _"Right," he mumbled. Maybe just a _little._

"So," Caroline sipped politely at her coffee – and she could _barely even taste the alcohol – _trying to make conversation with her vampire-hunting, recently possessed history teacher; "…turns out Damon's not dead."

Somewhat more comfortable with this conversation than with the last, Alaric said, "Yeah, I know. He called me. That's good news."

Caroline agreed sweetly, though not with a ton of enthusiasm. She didn't actually wish _death_ on Damon; in fact, she was glad that he hadn't died. Basically. But he really was mean. She didn't know how Alaric was friends with him.

Caroline laughed suddenly, hearing the sibling confrontation going on upstairs – Elena had invaded the bathroom where Jeremy was showering to ask after his health.

Alaric noticed. "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing…just Elena being _Elena_….So…I guess Jeremy really is okay?"

Even Alaric could hear him yelling.

"Yeah, seems like it," Alaric spoke into his coffee. Eager to change the subject, Ric wondered if Caroline knew about the 'complications' that Damon had alluded to on his earlier phone call, "So, what's going on?"

Caroline, her elbows on the table leaned in conspiratorially towards Alaric, who eyed her and instinctively mimicked her movements. She lowered her voice, "I don't know – but, I think something is up with Stefan."

Ric raised an eyebrow_, _but their almost discussion was cut off prematurely when Elena rejoined them in the kitchen, smiling.

"Hey," Caroline greeted, reflecting her friend's wide smile; "How was Jeremy?"

"Not happy," Elena conceded wryly, "but, very much alive…and is that coffee?"

"Yeah. Help yourself," Ric said offhandedly, "I made a whole pot."

Elena smiled a little confused, but also amused at Ric's easy comfort and familiar manner in _her_ house, "Um, thanks Ric."

Caroline paid no attention to the subtext going on around her, as she heard a buzz and picked up her cell phone. Her brow creased slightly as she read the incoming text.

Elena sat next to her friend with her virgin coffee, "Caroline?"

"What is it?" Alaric asked at the same time.

"It's a text from Damon," she explained looking up.

Alaric straightened up, expectantly - while Elena eyes brightened a little: "Is he here?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Upstairs at the Gilbert Home of Vampire - Visions.<strong>

Jeremy felt better after his shower. In a tee-shirt and boxers, he quickly towel-dried his hair, wondering if he was more annoyed and embarrassed by Elena invading his privacy…again, or amused and touched by her concern. Jeremy smiled indulgently at his sister. Jeremy grabbed a pair of jeans and carelessly pulled them on; he could hear voices. His sister, Ric, and Caroline were downstairs. Though he couldn't make out what they were talking about – it was comforting, somehow, to know that they were there. Jeremy, so often a loner, had experienced enough loss and death lately (now including his own) that he wasn't as comfortable being alone as he once was. He was a pack animal now, a team-player, an (all too) eager member of a secret society. He combed his fingers through his damp hair and then fingered the gaudy family ring on his hand.

Suddenly, Jeremy's head was pounding, his eyelids falling closed. Maybe he would skip school today after all. On top of being shot in the chest last night, dying and being mystically resurrected – he hadn't gotten much sleep either. He staggered back and threw himself at his bed – one arm settling under his pillow, stretched out towards the bed board, the other draped over his eyes. He lay there on the cusp of sleep when he his skin registered a chill in the air – a message that didn't quite reach his cognizant mind.

The bed shifted with new weight. Jeremy removed his arm from his eyes and opened them half-way.

"Hey," he said softly.

"It's getting impossible to sneak up on you." Anna was lying there next to him, her sad eyes seeking out his.

"Nice try, though."

"Sorry, I woke you."

"That's okay. You only woke me half-way."

Anna smiled with sweetly, regretfully. "So, listen – I…" Jeremy could feel soft, cool fingers tracing the contours of his face gently; "That feels good," he mumbled contentedly.

The fingers broke contact with Jeremy's skin, and he could feel smooth lips make brief contact with his own before the comforting touching resumed, "Goodbye," she whispered.

Jeremy startled, fully awake again – and aware that the skin on the back of his neck was prickly, and feeling an old grief acutely. He felt a cold, throbbing ache; the cause of which eluded him and would go unnamed – but, which left him feeling empty and bewildered. It could not be attributed to his parents or to Jenna – he knew too well where that grief lived in his heart. He looked around him in confusion as the electricity in the air dissipated, "Anna?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile, back on the First Floor….<strong>

Damon opened the front door of the Gilbert house and immediately found all eyes on him. "Gang," he greeted, walking into the kitchen and taking the empty chair next to Alaric and across from Elena.

Alaric welcomed him, "Hey, Damon – you're looking good for a dead man," and clapped him lightly on the back.

Damon scowled, shaking off his hand; "Don't gush, Ric – it doesn't suit you."

Ric stood, "Yeah, yeah. Can I get you some coffee?"

"It's really, really good coffee," Caroline offered.

Damon gave him a shrewd look: "Let me guess, _Ric_ made it?"

Ric gestured in acknowledgment.

"I'll take a double then." Damon looked at Elena. "_You_ didn't respond to my text."

"_I_ forgot my cell phone at the Boarding House," she imitated his tone playfully.

"Someone's in a good mood. I take it Jeremy has passed inspection, and is all in one piece, then?"

Elena just smiled warmly, while Caroline could not suppress a giggle.

"Good. Where is the little pest, anyway?"

Caroline answered, "He hasn't come down yet."

Alaric set down a coffee cup in front of Damon that was as least fifty percent actual coffee, before passing behind his chair and re-taking his seat.

Damon sipped his coffee and grimaced slightly – there was _actual coffee_ in there. "So, all the scooby's are here then?" _Except for the witch and Stefan_. He stood as he spoke; his mind and body too restless to adhere to the confines of a chair. He poured out his coffee into the sink and filled his mug with unadulterated cognac.

Alaric nodded; "Except for Bonnie and Stefan."

Elena's smiled faded as she remembered Stefan. She had actually forgotten _all_ about him since she had heard about what had happened to Jeremy. The air shifted in the room, becoming heavier. "Stefan." She felt guilty that she had forgotten him, and that she had been happy in so doing.

Caroline had had enough: "Where _is_ Stefan? What aren't you guys saying?"

"Stefan's gone." Elena spoke in a monotone; suddenly feeling how tired she was, feeling the waves of loss that lapped in on her from all directions, washing over her and tearing asunder the all too fleeting euphoria of finding Jeremy unhurt.

Ric and Caroline turned to Damon for confirmation.

Damon directed his eyes to Elena, intense and veiled as he spoke, his tone casual and his words clipped; "Long story short? Seems that baby bro has massive, untreated co-dependency issues and the mother of all martyr complexes. Klaus had a cure and Stefan indentured himself to him to get it."

The room was quiet. Eventually, it was Caroline that broke the silence; "So, what do we do?

Damon looked at the individuals now grouped around him, watching him - waiting for his orders and mentally kicked himself for somehow managing to accidentally _collect_ all these people – just picking them up one by one along the way without ever having intended to. He had come to Mystic Falls with the simple intention of retrieving Katherine, mocking and tormenting Stefan the Squirrel Slayer for a bit and possibly unleashing the wrath of long interred, blood-starved, vengeful vampires on the town that had killed him and then go on his merrily homicidal way – and now, he had 'people'_._ How does _that_ happen?

Abruptly cutting short the nascent Stefan retrieval strategy-session and the inevitable and obligatory expressions of disbelief and distress, Damon answered by changing the subject; "Blondie – you get my text?"

Suddenly Caroline was nervous and fidgety, "Yeah, I got it."

Alaric and Elena looked from Damon to Caroline and then at each other in their shared ignorance. Alaric shrugged.

"What do you think?" Damon continued.

"What did she say?"

Elena interjected – she _really_ hated not knowing what was going on: "What did _who_ say?" She looked at Damon.

"Barbie's mom called me a little while ago. Left me a message." Damon grinned a slightly unpleasant grin; "She wants to set up a meeting with me. With us, actually – well, with me and Stefan; but mostly just me," Damon sounded strangely satisfied by that.

"The sheriff wants to meet with you? No, way – she tried to _kill_ you – and she _did _kill Jeremy!" Elena exploded, standing to level her eyes with Damon's. Elena was over the worst, the most destructive phase of her anger – and she was sorry that what she said would hurt Caroline – but, she was _not_ okay with Sheriff Forbes running around and killing her friends and family.

Caroline wilted visibly in her chair at Elena's outburst, but it wasn't worse than she might have expected given the circumstances; "What are you going to do, Damon?"

Damon spared a quelling look for Elena, eyebrows raised, before answering: "I…am going to give the lady what she wants…"

Elena moved toward Damon to stare him down; "Damon, no! Absolutely not!"

Damon's eyes were a challenge; his voice was steady, a low growl: "Elena, I _have_ to deal with this situation. She knows about all of us – I can't just do nothing."

"Damon, please don't hurt my mom."

Elena spun to face Caroline; "Caroline – no offense, but right now, I am more worried about what your mother might do – besides Damon isn't going to hurt her." He had had plenty of chances already, after all.

Damon looked genuinely offended, "I'm not going to _hurt_ her, Caroline. _When_ have I _ever_ tried to hurt Liz? I'm going to meet with her and hear what she has to say," he shrugged, "I have to keep an eye on her one way or another – at least, until I can get her off of the vervain."

Elena turned back to Damon; "So, you're going to compel her again?"

If Damon didn't know better, he could swear that he heard something approaching approval in Elena's voice; "That's the plan – unless she has a _really, really _convincing counter-offer."

Caroline stood then. Everyone was standing now except for Alaric – who continued to sit leaning back in his chair, legs fully extended under the table and eyebrows raised and thoughtful – just taking it all in.

"No!" Caroline yelled, "You can't. I can't go back to keeping secrets from her – not like this. Besides, she'll just find out again eventually. I can't keep going _through_ this. You can't ask me too."

Caroline had successfully silenced Damon and Elena for the moment and their eyes met across the table. Elena's resolve was weakening and Damon could see it in her face. He slammed his fists on counter and raked a hand through his hair in frustration, "Damn it, Caroline…" Elena approached him, touching his hand, "Damon – maybe Caroline is right. Every time the sheriff finds out she's more dangerous…"

"Fine! ... Let's just worry about making this meeting happen first. But," he turned to look pointedly at Caroline, "just to be clear: this is _not_ a democracy, and afterwards, if I say we compel her; then we _compel_ her – do you understand?"

"Do you promise to hear her out first?"

"Yes, Caroline – I _promise_," he snarled, his eyes flaring.

Ric had gotten up and made his way gingerly around a very disgruntled Damon. He gulped what was left of his coffee and unabashedly refilled his cup with straight cognac and remained standing at the counter. "So," he asked, finally breaking his silence, "When is this going down?"

Damon grabbed his empty cup and tossed it wordlessly to Alaric, who caught it easily and repeated for Damon what he had just done for himself, and handed it back to him. Damon downed it in one gulp, trying to calm down. Finally: "We'll need to do this in a public place. We don't want to make easy targets for Liz and her deputies - if things don't go well."

Alaric nodded; "The Grill."

Elena, mostly resigned, but wishing that this wasn't necessary; "It's the most public place in town," she agreed.

"Set it up, Barbie. And, I am going to want _you_ and _you_ there." Damon indicated Caroline and Alaric.

Alaric raised his glass to indicate that he was on board, "What do you need?"

Damon was still looking at Caroline, however, as he answered: "Weapons – one of everything you got."

"Damon?" Ric queried, as Caroline and Elena both looked startled.

"Relax – it's a negotiating tactic. We'll discuss it later, Ric." Ric simply nodded.

"And me," Caroline asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"I am going to need a wing-vampire, Barbie – and _you're _it. You might even be a better negotiator than Stefan." _A horde of rampaging Mongols were probably better negotiators than Stefan – but, the kid tried._ "I'll be able to tell if her pulse rate changes and all that, but she _is_ your mother – so you should know all her tells."

"Her tells?"

"Haven't you ever played poker?" Seeing as how Caroline still looked confused – _so what else is new – _Damon elaborated. "You can tell when she's _lying_, Caroline."

"Oh, _definitely_ – she does this little thing with her nose – it's kind of cute, actually, but…"

"Not _now_, Caroline." _Christ, I actually think I miss Stefan._ Damon was thinking fast now, wondering if he had a snowball's chance in hell of actually bringing Liz over to their side.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Okay – THAT was exhausting. Trying to keep straight who was saying what and thinking up new ways to say: X said this, and Y said that. I hope that it was clear enough and not too repetitive. And I know there was a lot of just talking, and I'm sorry – I hope it wasn't boring. Also: I hope that Alaric/Caroline bit wasn't too slow – I think I just got carried away on account of I love Alaric so much. ;) Also: Alaric vs. Elena: Who loves Damon more, I wonder? I think I might have to give the edge to Ric, honestly. Also: It's really funny to me how my love of coffee and liquor is just all over this story.**

**A/N 3: And, yes, for any of you experiencing déjà vu – that Jeremy/Anna scene was lifted from S1E20: Blood Brothers.**


	8. Playing With Fire

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries totally does own me; every night in my dreams...  
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**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how I (and Damon) roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, so I just want to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter (and the story, generally) so warmly – I was suffering a bit from a case of the nerves posting all that dialogue. However, I am pleased to say that between your reviews and a case of virtual tequila which I have just received from Broken Memories, I am currently feeling no pain. ;) Although - tomorrow morning may be a different story. **

**Also: Katherine is back. Also: Tyler. **

**Also: A very special Thank You to ShadowFaxAngel for listening tirelessly to my tortured plot ruminations and forcing me to ask the hard questions!**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 8: Playing With Fire.**

**Setting:**** Foreclosure of Vampire Vacancy: This Housing Crisis is Awesome.**

Katherine had fled Mystic Falls. But. She had only made it as far as Grove Hill. Katherine was experiencing internal conflict. She was absolutely certain of only one thing: that she wanted to survive, and that everything else would be in the service of that goal. The trouble was that she hadn't yet figured out exactly _how_ to best serve that goal.

Katherine was accustomed to covering all her bases, to playing for all teams when it suited her until it became clear which one was the best bet, and even then – she was only really on Team Katherine. Now, she had run out of allies to call upon – Katherine wasn't really a 'people' person. Not that she had ever really trusted them anyway. Isobel had come closest to being a …'friend'…however, they had had differing priorities regarding Elena, and Katherine had remained guarded. _Not, guarded enough._ She had bet against the Salvatore brothers in the Klaus showdown – and while she had been right; Klaus was still alive – it had been a mistake to ally herself with Isobel. And, Katherine did not like making mistakes.

The 'Original' family was here in Mystic Falls – within her reach. If anyone could bring down Klaus – if anyone had reason to – it would be them. All of them. On the other hand: Could she be sure, even now, that Elijah would let her be, forgive her her – _completely understandable_ _desire to live_ – transgressions. Also: the idea of having _eight_ more vampires running around; older and stronger than herself – made Katherine wary.

Whatever she decided to do now would likely determine the course of her existence for …well, possibly forever. And, she did not want the future to be written in her blood.

So, she was here – in the bank-manicured backyard of a typically modern and ostentatious McMansion in the suburban wasteland that was Grove Hill which reeked of new and lost money – taking in the sun and drinking a Bloody Mary, heavy on the blood. She had found some clothes here, probably left behind by a confused young jazz singer after Isobel had disappeared. She had found herself a local man with beautiful and shining medium brown hair who reminded Katherine just a little of Elijah, and it amused her to have him serve her. She had even re-christened him: Eli. He lay next to her on another outdoor chaise which mirrored Katherine's own in a pair of borrowed swim trunks. It was a glorious and sunny spring mid-morning, and after having been cooped up in Klaus' apartment for days on end without a change of clothes, Katherine was taking her respite and reveling in her freedom.

But, thoughts of her precarious situation were never far away. She had left orders with several humans at the dock to contact her if there was a change in the shipping schedule, or any other _problems._ She had wanted to get away, to fly under the radar – but, until she had a plan, she did not want to venture too far. There was potential here – whether it was more potential for disaster or potential for eternal freedom remained to be seen.

Damon now had a reason of his own to go after Klaus – assuming the elder Salvatore actually wanted his brother back. Perhaps, Katherine could use this to her advantage.

And if Katherine needed allies…well, maybe she could just _make_ some. She turned to peer at 'Eli', her body moving lazily, belying the seriousness of her thoughts. He was adorable – but, as dumb as a box of rocks, rather like Mason Lockwood had been. Eli couldn't be more than twenty-three, twenty-four years old, blue-eyed and baby-faced. He had fallen asleep in the sun, with his mouth slightly open and drooling down his chest. _Okay. Maybe not._ He might be good for an eternity of backrubs – but, it was doubtful as to whether he could be of any real use to her.

Perhaps she was approaching this from the wrong direction entirely, she mused. If Klaus had 'murdered' his family, then he obviously views them as some kind of threat – if he shipped them around with him, then he liked to keep them close, even in their suspended state – again: a threat. Maybe, Katherine didn't need to risk waking them – at least, not all of them. He would not be happy – but, she knew that he would promise her anything to get his family back…That would, at least, leave her running from only _one_ Original. Klaus would, most likely, be more determined than ever to track and kill her – but, she was _extremely_ good at running; at _surviving_ – and in the meantime, Elijah would stop at nothing to take Klaus down.

Katherine sipped prettily at her Bloody Mary, once again eyeing Eli. If she did this, she would be going all-in and she knew it. And, she was going to need some help. And, since she really only relied on her own wits, brawn would suffice. Of course, it would be better if he was in love with her – but, even Katherine might need more than a few days to achieve that kind of undying devotion…still…she reached over and woke him, mussing his hair gently and calling his name, until his mouth closed and he stirred.

"Eli…" She began seductively, "how would you like to live forever?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls High School: Do You Know Where Your Children Are? No, really. Do You?<strong>

Caroline hustled through the crowded, though ever shrinking, population of teenagers that made up the student body at Mystic Falls high school. She wanted to get out of there before she was spotted by any of her teachers and questioned as to her erratic attendance. She also wasn't too keen on running into Matt.

She was here on orders from Damon to compel the principal into believing that both Gilberts were home sick, as well as Bonnie and herself – _Terrible food poisoning…they had all been out together…terrible Chinese food…probably the shrimp…Stick with the Grill_. Of course, they had never actually eaten there, but whatever. After that crazy Martin-witch fire - the Grill could use all the revenue it could get.

Jeremy had decided that death was a good reason to miss a day, and Elena had wanted to stay with him. And, apparently, Damon had Bonnie working on something – because his exact words to her upon leaving the house were: "And if you see Sabrina at the school – you tell her to get her witch-ass in gear."

She had dropped off Alaric too – he had had a lot of…_coffee…_ this morning. Actually, that seemed like that might be a thing with him. If it was – that would totally help explain how he and Damon managed to get along so well. Mr. Saltzman had actually looked kind of startled when Damon had mentioned the school, like he only just remembered that he worked there. And then, when they had been crossing the campus together earlier several of his students had come up to him, called him 'Ric' and left giggling. And a few of them had been guys. Caroline did not even want to know what _that_ was about.

Almost in the clear, Caroline passed through the main doors of the school, down the front steps and was making her way to her car, when she felt a strong hand on her arm, arresting her progress. She jumped a little and turned; "Tyler! Hi!" Tyler appraised her with his warm brown eyes. Was it just her, or had Tyler come back from Florida hotter? She felt a small blush creep into the fair skin of her cheeks. She couldn't believe that she was dead - and she could still blush, like being dead wasn't enough.

"Caroline, hey – I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you…" Tyler tried to hide the tiny, involuntary smile that threatened when he noticed Caroline's color change.

"Oh, no – you didn't. I mean – you did a little – but, I'm just a little jumpy today…" She smiled brightly. "You're still here. In Mystic Falls, I mean. I wasn't sure if you were going to stay in town…"

Tyler looked down, briefly. He felt remarkably open with Caroline, but – it was a process. "Well, Jules is dead," he began, "so…"

"Oh, she frowned, "Right…Tyler…I forgot…I didn't…I mean, I know that she was helping you…so, I'm sorry"

"No, Caroline – it's okay. I went with her, but I never forgot – what they did… what I didn't do…"

"Hey," she nudged him playfully in the side, "We're past that already…remember the night we almost died?"

He smiled again, "I know. I know we are – and I happen to have it on good authority that I was a complete ass for leaving in the first place."

"_You_ must have been talking to someone incredibly smart then."

"I was." Tyler had said that in all seriousness and Caroline could feel her 'borrowed' blood rush to her cheeks again, and she said nothing. Tyler changed the subject tactfully – something else he was working on: "I'm sorry, were you leaving?"

Caroline sighed. She still needed to set up this meeting between Damon and her mother. And she was worried. She was worried about her mother, she was worried about Stefan; she was worried about all of them, about co-existing…"Yeah, I have this thing…"

"A thing?" Tyler arched a brow and looked at her as though he knew that she had more to say. Caroline was not a vague or particularly evasive person by nature, as Tyler was well aware. She had absolutely no trouble speaking her mind. And, if she was holding something back – then something was probably wrong.

Caroline was not sure how much to tell Tyler. She was pretty sure that she had gotten Damon to back off, but – involving him in any of this mess might land him squarely back on his radar. "Oh! I almost forgot! How's your mother doing?"

Tyler answered, perfectly hip to the fact that Caroline, while genuinely asking, was also deflecting for all she was worth; "She's good. She's almost completely recovered, actually. She was back at work yesterday and everything. Considering how bad her fall was – it's pretty amazing."

"That's so great, Tyler…"

"It is," he agreed; "Now, what about this 'thing'…?"

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later Caroline had sung like the proverbial canary. And Tyler was…processing.<p>

"…So, Elena was dead, but she's okay now - Jeremy was dead, but he isn't anymore – Damon was dying, but now he's fine – and Stefan is fine, but Klaus has him, and Elena's aunt is actually dead – _and_ your mother knows about _all_ of us?"

Tyler and Caroline were sitting now on a bench on the school grounds. Tyler was alternating between having his hands clasped in front of him elbows on knees, and gesticulating expressively. Currently, he was looking at Caroline a little askance, his arms extended to either side his hands open in a show of disbelief.

Caroline nodded and Tyler brought his hands together again. This was unreal. "Did I miss anything?"

Caroline opened her mouth to speak again, and Tyler put his head down and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He hadn't actually expected that there would be more.

"My mother wants to meet with us. Well, with Damon, mostly."

Tyler looked up again at Caroline, and turned to face her more completely with one arm resting on the back of the bench, the other on his knee; "What, like a summit or something?"

"Something like that…" Caroline trailed off lamely.

"When?"

"I still have to set it up. I don't know – today, tomorrow…Tyler," Caroline's voice became firm with dawning comprehension, "You can't come."

"Caroline – you don't know what's going to happen. _I_ don't know what's going to happen – but, I do know that if you might be in danger – then I'm going to be there."

"Oh." Caroline paused before she started to shake her head in dissension, "…No, wait – Tyler, I'll be fine: vampire, remember? Besides, it's my mom…and _you_ almost killed Damon, and he doesn't exactly do the whole forgive and forget thing…and I really don't think it's a good idea…"

Tyler was firm, "He'll get over it."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Bennett Home for Supernatural Latch-Key Kids.<strong>

Bonnie was upstairs in her dusty attic pouring over everything she had on hand that might prove relevant to the life-saving spell she had done on Elena. She would have to talk to Damon about getting his help retrieving all the other grimoires from the Martin's apartment and the Witch House. She didn't want to trust him with them – but, she had no idea where to hide all those books from her father in her own house. She was worried about Stefan, and she would do everything in her power to help find him – but, what Damon had said about Elena possibly being 'wrong' somehow had struck a nerve after the horror of the night before, and making sure that Elena was okay took precedence.

Finally, after three hours of searching, Bonnie was dusty, she was dirty, she was thirsty, she was cranky, and she really, _really _hated Damon – but, she thought that she might actually have found something. _It was barely anything, really_. The spell had been more of a 'preservation' spell than a resurrection spell – a preventative measure, as opposed to a reversal. John Gilbert had volunteered to allow his life-force to flow through Elena – allowing her 'essence' or 'soul' to remain intact – to save her life, as a human. Bonnie didn't know about the soul – she didn't know about God – but she knew about mystical energy and she knew how spells worked. Everything was connected on some basic level, and nothing was ever as clean or as neat as you thought it was. Elena was fine. But, on some basic mystical level – she was simply not _exactly_ the same Elena that she had been before she died – John's life-force had mixed with her own, and had become entangled. It didn't take much to set off the magical tripwire, and the mystical home ownership clause, apparently, no longer applied. It just didn't recognize her.

Bonnie stood, achy but triumphant – and completely assured in the knowledge that there was nothing at all wrong with Elena. They would just have to redo the paperwork or something. Bonnie shook her head at the intricacies of vampire real-estate law. Not her problem. Elena's own home would soon come to recognize her as she actually _lived_ in it. And, Bonnie couldn't think of any other relevant magical, mystical or supernatural wires that would or could be tripped, crossed or shorted out.

She stretched out her back and brushed her hands across her jeans, leaving a residue of grime on them – and started down the attic stairs. She would shower, call Damon, check on Jeremy and Elena, and get to work on her locator spell.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Gilbert House of Unofficially Emancipated Minors…Shhhh…<strong>

Jeremy was still sleeping. Elena didn't think that she had to be worried. Ric had said that Jeremy had had trouble sleeping the night before – and Elena didn't doubt it, after everything that he had just been through. She was immensely grateful to Alaric for staying the night here to make sure that he was okay. And, words were not enough to contain or convey all that she felt for Bonnie for giving her brother back to her.

She was restless not being able to do anything to save Stefan – but, she was determined to be here when Jeremy finally decided to come downstairs. She would make them lunch or something and they could talk. If nothing else, she would have to tell him about Damon being alive and Stefan being…gone.

She realized now, alone for the first time in days and sitting on the sofa waiting for Jeremy to wake up - that she had barely even begun to absorb what Stefan had done. She felt almost sick when she thought of their last few minutes together yesterday – and how she hadn't even wanted him there. Losing Jenna – the sacrifice – her single-minded and short-sighted determination to do everything _her_ way – it had all left her numb, and disenchanted with their 'epic-ness', and even a little disenchanted with him. Fair or not, right or not – Stefan had been complicit in her steady and willful progress toward death and destruction. Rationally, she knew that Stefan had done nothing wrong – had done nothing other than what she had asked of him; to respect her and to respect her wishes – but, rational thought had not played a large role in what she had been feeling at the time. Yesterday, if that was possible.

She wondered, in retrospect, if Stefan had wanted more at the time than just to tell her about Damon…if he had wanted her to fight him more, to challenge his decision to go to Klaus. Or, if he had been seeking some kind of affirmation in her eyes. But, that _had_ been his decision.

She had avoided his faithful and steady gaze, had been uncomfortable in his presence and she had wanted no part of whatever new 'drama' it was that he had come to tell her about.

Until he had mentioned Damon. Damon who had fought her and challenged her decisions the entire time. And, he had been wrong about a lot of things, and he might have been too willing to lay down Bonnie's life for her own – but, if Elena had not been so determined to neutralize him, if she had not made so much of it _about_ him, about _them_, and about _winning_…maybe…maybe they could have found another way.

Damon had almost died to stop the sacrifice from happening, to stop the chain of events that Elena had set into motion - saving Caroline and Tyler in the process - and he had almost been her last victim; had almost been the final casualty in Elena's war.

Now Stefan was missing and Elena had kissed his brother.

Now that she was alone all she could feel was confusion and guilt – and it was crowding out even the worry and the fear that she _should _be feeling.

Why, when he told her that he loved her – had she believed him with such certainty, when she had only so recently and so righteously been challenging even his ability to love, his every pretension to understanding the concept?

Why had it stirred up something? And _what_ had it stirred up? Why had it sounded so intimate, so familiar? Like an echo of an echo, it continued to resonate; it had touched her, but it had also chilled her.

And, _why_ did any of this matter? It was _Stefan_ that mattered now.

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><p><strong>AN 2: Broken Memories – Since you asked about Stefan-negotiation tactics – I was actually thinking about the time that he tried to threaten Tyler into being his friend. Lol. "We both want the same things…" *chokehold* etc. Though, I think I get where you're coming from, too. I'm going to name my hangover after you! Cheers! ;)**

**A/N 3: For anyone curious – my take on the Katherine-got-in-the-House thing is sort of modeled on the way the chip no longer buzzed Spike's brain after Buffy 'came back wrong.' She was still Buffy – just, a liiittle different.**


	9. Bait and Switch

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to. Especially, one Damon Salvatore. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: So, I guess you guys like Katherine, huh? Well, I do too – so, more Katherine for Everyone! Don't say I never give you anything. Enjoy. ;)  
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**Also: As usual thank you all so much for the reviews and the alerts and the on-going interest! And thank you specifically to those of you whom I could not PM for personal thank-you's: Joyce and Broken Memories. Your reviews keep me plugging away at the story, and make my day!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 9: Bait and Switch.**

**Setting: Sheriff Forbes' Office: Security Is What We Do.**

Damon Salvatore; vampire, had waited until he saw the Sheriff leave – presumably, and if all was going to plan - to meet Caroline at the Grill for a late lunch and preliminary inter-species powwow - before he casually walked right into the Police Station, schmoozed with a few deputies and told them that he had a meeting scheduled with Sheriff Forbes on official 'Founder's Council' business – and that he "was afraid that he was a little early," but that Liz had assured him that she was only "stepping out" – and could he possibly wait in her office?

Normally, no civilians would be allowed to enter the sheriff's private office in her absence, but a couple of Liz' V5 deputies immediately recognized Damon as someone whom the sheriff had called upon more than once for assistance in dealing with 'delicate' matters; and they quietly and respectfully ushered him in to her office, trying not to give him meaningful and questioning looks.

Satisfied that Liz' knowledge had not yet been passed on to others 'in the know' - Damon just smiled broadly and thanked the deputies in a low voice – meant only for them - for their public service and tireless watchfulness in these "dangerous times." They nodded knowingly, appreciative for this rarely received recognition and praise for so secret a calling, and, holding their heads rather higher, asked if they could get Damon a coffee or a tea or a doughnut or something. Damon smiled again; "Ooh, Krispy Kreme?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Port of Mystic Falls: Because International Commerce Starts Right Here, In This Tiny, Tiny Town.<strong>

Katherine had rightly decided not to leave anything to chance. She had compelled as many dock workers as she thought necessary to keep her apprised of the situation with the cargo – but, if her plan was going to work, then she would need to be more thoughtful, more careful, more cunning and more involved. She didn't like to do the heavy lifting herself, but poor stupid Eli was still human – for the moment – and therefore weak as a kitten, and he would need her help.

She had already run her other necessary _errand_ in Mystic Falls, and after this was taken care of – she would high-tail it back to Grove Hill – just in time to throw a killer party for Eli and, hopefully, at least a dozen of his closest (male) friends. Katherine trusted that they would be as dim and easy to manipulate as Eli himself – like tended towards like, after all. And, while she did not envy them the headaches they would have when they woke up in the morning, it simply could not be helped. She smiled a pleased smile to herself, in the relative darkness of her hiding place all the way at the back of an empty twenty foot shipping container. Really, it was almost as black as pitch in the interior of the metal drum, but Katherine could see well enough through the shadows.

Katherine didn't want to send off any red-flags in case Klaus had also left behind some compelled human watch-dogs – so she waited patiently (and 'helped' Eli to wait patiently as well), until it was time for a contractual and mandatory Union break – as she thanked a God that she didn't believe in that some people still fought for their inherent right to drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and slack off at regular intervals.

When the last of the port employees had filed out of the storage area of Dock Building Four, Katherine and Eli stole softly inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Gilbert House of Foundlings: I can haz Adult Supervision?<strong>

It was a few hours later when Bonnie finally rang the doorbell of the Gilbert house, while awkwardly balancing a packed cardboard box on one raised knee. It was filled with candles, supplies, and the appropriate magical tomes, all haphazardly gathered and tossed inside.

Elena rushed from her seat on the couch to answer the door. The 'talk' she had planned on having with Jeremy having not gone so well as she might have liked. He had reacted with all the appropriate relief and concern when she had told him the news about Damon and Stefan, respectively – but, when she had tried to talk to him about him – he had shut her down. He hadn't been rude or angry – it wasn't like he used to shut her down during his Vicki-and-drugs-stage – but, Elena had believed that after his full integration into the group…well, she had believed that they were past this. And, she hoped that Bonnie would have more luck.

"Bonnie, hey," she opened the door for her overburdened friend and made a move to grab the box that she was struggling with.

Bonnie looked up at Elena with concerned and grateful eyes, "Thanks. How are you?" she asked as she followed Elena into the house, a hand on Elena's arm.

Elena just put down the box and hurried to hug her friend in silence.

"Elena…"

"Thank you, Bonnie."

Instantly Bonnie understood, and the girls hugged for as long as each thought was necessary – which was a while. "I couldn't let him die, Elena…"

When Bonnie and Elena pulled away from each other, Bonnie looked around the living room for Jeremy. "Where is he?" she asked.

Elena had reclaimed the box of supplies and was about to take it into the kitchen. "He just went upstairs a few minutes ago – you should go tell him you're here. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you." She dropped the box on a chair.

Bonnie followed her, "I will…How is he?"

"Good. He seems good. Maybe a little distracted, though – and he won't talk to me about what happened."

Bonnie nodded slowly, remembering how Jeremy had reacted when she and Caroline had tried to stop him from looking for Damon; "I don't think he wants us to worry about him."

Elena sat on an empty chair, "I know Bonnie – but, he's my brother – I'm always worried about him."

"Of course you worry about him. I do too…" Bonnie hesitated – not wanting to stir up alarm over a warning that was probably intended to teach her a lesson, but needing, for her own sake, to probe a little further into Jeremy's…condition.

"But, he's fine otherwise, right?"

She tried to hide the seriousness of her line of questioning by casually walking over to the Gilbert 'fridge as she had done countless times over the years. She opened it, and after quickly taking in the scarcity of food to be found – Bonnie realized that no one must have gone grocery shopping since Jenna had died…her best friend and her boyfriend were really orphans now.

Elena winced a little, knowing that she had nothing to offer her friend. Lunch had been a grilled cheese for herself and Jeremy. And now, they were out of cheese. "Uh, I think there's some Chunky Monkey in the freezer. Jenna likes to keep it…" she trailed off. It was weird. Jenna's death had been so dramatic, so traumatic – it was etched in Elena's mind. The knowledge of it almost never left her consciousness. Definitely not when they talked about 'big things' like recovering Stefan, or the future, or even just getting through a day – but, such a little thing – like her favorite ice cream and suddenly everything was present tense again.

Bonnie closed the refrigerator door and sat opposite Elena. "It's okay," she said, "I wasn't really hungry anyway….But, how are you doing? With Stefan and everything?"

Elena sighed heavily, but honestly didn't know how to respond. Without knowing it, and without meaning to, Elena echoed her doppelganger sentiments upon being 'caught' by Jenna kissing one Damon Salvatore out on the front porch; "I don't want to talk about it."

Bonnie pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. "Elena," she began, taking her friends' hand, "you're allowed to be upset about Stefan." Bonnie assumed that Elena's reticence came from her preoccupation with Jeremy and the situation with Caroline's mother. "And – you know you can talk to me about _anything_."

Elena met her friends' earnest gaze – and felt another crushing wave of guilt. "I know, Bonnie." Even as she spoke the words – she doubted her own veracity. She _was_ worried about Stefan, and she felt utterly helpless to do anything. After her initial surge of shock and determination, she had been haunted by unanswered questions: how would they fight Klaus? Again? What had changed since the last time? Would Bonnie's life be in danger, _again_? And, then there were the questions that had nothing to do with Klaus, with Stefan – but, with Damon. Questions that Elena, herself didn't know how to address – or even whether she _should_, and questions that she very much doubted that _Bonnie_ could help her answer. She didn't know who _could_. Elena tried to rally herself; "Let's just find him, Bonnie. We _have_ to get him back."

When Bonnie had finally felt clean enough after her attic foray, she had called Damon to update him on the aftereffects of the spell on Elena. Damon had been quiet on the other end, thoughtful even – as she explained the very limited extent of the repercussions. Finally, he allowed that this was good news and they had agreed that it wasn't necessary to tell Elena unless she asked them for the details. Then Damon had asked after her progress in preparing for the locator spell. Bonnie had reminded him that she still needed his blood and something that belonged to Stefan.

"I'm on it," he had assured her impatiently, "You just worry about holding up your end."

So, where was he? "Where's Damon? I need him here for the spell," she grumbled.

"I know he went back to the Boarding House to get something of Stefan's – He should be back by now…"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Sheriff Forbes' Office of Ambush Vampire Negotiation Pre-Gaming.<strong>

Damon was sitting at the Sheriff's desk, a half-eaten doughnut in one hand, reading through the documents that Liz had left out. He was reading a rather sparse account if his own history; The Life and Times of Damon Salvatore: Mystic Falls resident, Eldest Son, Founding Family Member, Civil War Soldier and Military Deserter. It was even more boring than he remembered, if that was possible – and not a word about his rakish good looks, dazzling wit, or roguish charm.

He had already rifled through her desk, opening drawers and sifting through papers and had found nothing more threatening than a small stash of vervain and a handgun tricked out to shoot wooden bullets. No surprises there.

He could hear it when Liz entered the station house, could hear it when a deputy informed her quietly that her two-thirty was waiting for her, he could hear it when the doorknob began to cautiously turn. Damon just kept his head down, resting it at a careless angle propped up on one arm, the other sprawled across the desk – doughnut still in hand; eyes focused on the records before him as though totally engrossed, reading studiously.

That was how Liz found him there; in her office and at her desk. What was he trying to prove? "Damon," she tried to sound authoritative, but there was a shadow of fear that hung over her, "What are you doing here?"

Without looking up, Damon held up one finger to indicate that he was almost done. A few seconds later Damon finally looked up at Liz, smiling broadly. His easy-going posturing and his crooked crocodile smile unnerved Liz a little; and that was the point. And although she couldn't help the slight involuntary increase in her heart rate, she stood her ground – from across the room, and near the door, while her right hand hovered discretely over her holstered weapon.

Damon pushed the chair away from the desk, but remained seated. "You call, I come," he shrugged, popping the last of the doughnut into his mouth. "You wanted to meet with me?"

"I just left Caroline – we arranged for a public meeting, at the Grill – tomorrow."

"Consider this negotiation prep," Damon extended his arms, bent at the elbows, palms open and fingers spread in a gesture of explanation. "I'm a good-will ambassador. Also, I'm impatient. Good doughnuts, by the way."

As she watched Damon, she recalled having just left Caroline packing away a burger at the Grill. They could even _eat_ like normal people. She shook her head slowly, her guard up; "You shouldn't be here, Damon."

Damon came around to the front of the sheriff's desk and in an elegantly executed gesture of mild disrespect, sat on it; "I thought we were friends." Damon's voice was lower now, more closely resembling seriousness.

"And, I thought I knew you," she shot back.

Damon leaned back and fingered the papers on her desk, "Looks like you do now."

Liz was stubborn; "Why are you here, Damon?"

Damon found and held up a list of questions (mostly incidents of 'death-by-vampire')that the sheriff had come up with in preparation for tomorrow's 'conference' – "I do believe that it's customary when conducting negotiations, that the involved parties have a pre-determined set of talking points…."

Liz held her head up high, and firmed up her stance; "There's only one thing that I want to know Damon."

"And what would _that_ be, Liz?"

"Why should I trust you? Why should I help you?"

"Who says I need help?" Damon wondered darkly just how much vampire Barbie had told her mother.

"Never mind that now."

Damon paused thoughtfully; "Because I can help _you_ protect this town? Because I can _kill_ you? Because I never tried to kill you – even though you tried to kill me…_twice?_"

Liz was taken aback; "Twice?"

It figures that Blondie would leave that part out. "Yeah – the first time that you found out about us – it was a whole _thing_." Damon's eyes widened slightly for added emphasis. "Seems like it might be an unhealthy pattern developing in our relationship."

"I…don't remember that."

Damon smiled again; "That was the idea, Liz."

"So…I tried to kill you and…"

"And Stefan," Damon interjected.

"I tried to kill you _and_ Stefan – and you…" Liz trailed off, waiting for Damon to fill in the blanks.

Damon shrugged; "…invited you for an extended stay at chez Salvatore, let the vervain pass out of your system, gave you expensive Egyptian cotton sheets to sleep on, compelled you, and sent you on your merry way."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

Damon rankled; "I _told_ you already – I thought we were friends. Besides, why should I have killed you?"

"I think you should go now, Damon." Liz was nervous here, essentially alone with him in a crowded office full of people. She knew that he could drain her or snap her neck in a heart-beat, and no one else in the building would know.

Damon tried to size her up, and re-directed the conversation as he stood and came towards her; "_You_ didn't happen to come out to the Boarding House while I was out and help yourself to a considerable supply of vervain, hmmm?"

Liz stiffened - he was a little too close now for her comfort; "No."

"Now, you wouldn't be _lying_ to me, would you Liz?"

There was an uncomfortable and lingering silence, as Damon searched her eyes, before Liz responded, "If you're here to intimidate me, Damon…."

Damon cut her off with a hand wave– he believed that she didn't know what he was talking about – and that was both good and not-good; "Relax Liz." He backed off, and wandered over to the counter-top with the coffee maker, aimlessly touching this and that, "I'm not here to _threaten_ you – although," he turned around to face her, "you should know that I am squarely on Team Compel You. You'll be happy, we'll be safe. It's win-win, Liz."

"I'm on vervain, Damon…. And, I don't want to live a lie."

Damon thought that she sounded just like Caroline; "Ohh, I've done it. It's not _so_ bad – while you're living it – it's the finding out part that really sucks. A little lying can be good for the soul." He paused, "Anyway, that's one option. I _also_ thought that I would drop by, see who you've told on the Mystic Falls anti-vampire squad, rifle through your things and eat your doughnuts. I was gonna go – but, everyone's been _so_ nice…"

"I haven't told anyone. Yet."

Damon sobered suddenly, studying the sheriff's face intently, "So, what are you waiting for?"

Liz shifted awkwardly where she stood, her hand falling helplessly away from her holster, and was quiet.

"Ahh," He began, while deciding that he would find nothing of interest among her things, personal or professional; he instead reclaimed his spot on the front of her desk his hands gripping the edge behind him; "I see: this is about Caroline…"

Liz' voice changed subtly, losing some of its hardness and regaining a note of familiarity; "She's my daughter, Damon."

The sheriff's sincerity almost prompted a matching response from the vampire leaning languidly on her desk; "Yes, Liz – she is," he agreed.

Liz bristled a bit at the knowing tone in his voice; "Did you and Stefan do this to her?" she demanded.

Damon raised an eyebrow questioningly; "Is that what she told you?"

She hedged. "Not exactly," she allowed, "But, I want to hear it from you."

Damon hesitated to tell her the truth, aware that she might not appreciate his hand in how things had turned out – but, he also knew that she probably wouldn't even remember in a day or two, "I…She wasn't doing well after the accident on Founder's Day – Bonnie felt guilty, and I…wanted to help. I gave her some blood to _save_ her – but, I didn't kill her. I wouldn't have done that to you." _At that point, at any rate_. But, Liz didn't need to know the _entire_ sordid history between himself and her daughter. And, Damon was telling the truth, in his own way. Things _were_ different now, anyway. For some reason. "That was _Katherine,"_ he added ruefully and without thinking.

Liz nodded, brushing a hand over her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to assimilate this confirmation of what Caroline had told her, while tightly controlling her emotions remembering that horrible night at the hospital – the longest of her life, at least, until she found out what her daughter was. But, Caroline had been vague as to who actually kill…_turned_ her. And why would Bonnie Bennett feel guilty about Tyler's car accident?

Damon watched her closely, a hint of compassion playing around his eyes. It was a lot to take in – even _he_ could appreciate that. "Liz?"

She opened her eyes – "Katherine?" she asked.

Damon cringed a little, his demeanor simultaneously sardonic and infused with unwanted sympathy; "Riiight – did you _not_ know about Katherine?"

* * *

><p>"And she looks <em>exactly<em> like Elena Gilbert?" Liz was sitting now in the visitor's chair in front of her desk, grasping a fresh cup of coffee from a pot that Damon had made. Damon was casually blocking the door, leaning up against it, one leg bent at the knee, his foot bracing the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded, "It's pretty freaky."

She looked over to her former ally; "But, she's gone?"

"Uh-huh."

"Anything else I should know about?"

Damon was still not convinced that she _should_ know any of this, but he held his tongue on that point. Instead he said, "Let's leave _something_ for the conference tomorrow."

Liz just agreed numbly. "And, why would Bonnie feel guilty about the accident?"

Damon considered. "Tyler Lockwood is a werewolf – he was affected by the device that John activated." He could see that this information wasn't doing anything for the sheriff, so he went on: "Pearl stole the device from the original John Gilbert; I got the device from Pearl; Isobel got the device from me, John got the device from Isobel – but, Bonnie was supposed to have un-spelled it first. Which, she obviously didn't." He paused, remembering the saga of that particular macguffin; "It was a regular 'Rube-Goldberg Device of stupid,' and it ended with Tyler crashing his car."

"John Gilbert?"

"Oh yeah. He was in this up to his beady little eyeballs."

"And Isobel? Would that be Alaric Saltzman's disappeared wife Isobel – the one that you met at Duke?"

"Yeeahh…About that…" Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Damon thought resignedly. He had snagged the sheriff's small vervain supply anyway. Just in case.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: The 'Rube Goldberg' line was totally stolen from one of Thomas Galvin's brilliant re-caps. He's been a general inspiration (mostly for the Scene Setting Tags) – but, that was an out and out line-grab! I don't know if you all think it's funny, but it had me ROTFL-ing for *days*. I'm not sure what that says about me – but, there you have it. **

**Also: No disrespect intended towards unions! Katherine's words, not mine!**

**Also: It had been my intention to save a Damon/Liz confrontation for their 'Summit' - but, Damon would have everything *his* way.****  
><strong>

**A/N 3: Broken Memories: I don't remember the name of the episode off-hand, but Stefan tried to intimidate Tyler into being friends with him in the same episode that Caroline was kidnapped by the inbred werewolves. Also: The bit with Ric and the students is just a nod to the *completely* inappropriate way that Elena addressed him in class (as Klaus, but she didn't know that) in 'The Last Dance.'**


	10. Chasing Shadows

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to. Especially, one Damon Salvatore. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, thank you all so much for the Damon/Liz love! Even to you, Miral – my own dear, sweet, lovely and most loquacious sister…Thank You as well to Broken Memories and JoJo. So, this chapter is a little on the light-hearted side, but I hope you guys like it. **

**Also: Sorry this update was a bit delayed. Work-stuff. **

**Also: I am going to try to pick up the pace a bit, and more plot is coming, promise. And Klaus, Stefan and I are already working on Chapter 11.**

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 10: Chasing Shadows.**

**Setting: Jeremy's Den of Delusions.**

Bonnie paused outside of Jeremy's closed bedroom door and called out his name softly. Getting no response from inside, she hesitated briefly. The truth was that she hadn't seen him since their short Skype chat last night, and after a restless and uneasy night of otherworldly warnings and censure – she was irrationally afraid of what she might find when she opened the door. Quickly, she chastised herself, tried to laugh at herself and forced herself to smile. She opened the door to her boyfriend's room and went inside.

What she found was Jeremy, lying down on his bed fully clothed, his muscular arms behind his head, listening to music, probably half-asleep. He looked peaceful. Bonnie's forced smile dropped away and was replaced with a sly, crooked grin. What had she expected to find, after all? Jeremy dead? Jeremy all crazed and talking to himself, gnawing his own arm off? She walked over to his bed and leaned over him, gently pulling his headphones away from one ear, so he would hear her when she said, "Hey, you."

Jeremy stirred, opening his bleary eyes, "Bonnie, hey," he said with barely any inflection and without moving.

Worry lines returned to crease Bonnie's face, her mouth pursed; until Jeremy, eyes closed and playing possum, suddenly reached his arms up and around her waist and brought her crashing onto the bed next to him. She settled, laughing, into position, her head resting on one of his outstretched arms, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. With his other hand he yanked his headphones off and tossed them lazily onto the floor next to his bed, smiling.

Bonnie nudged him with an elbow lightly, "Jeremy," she said around a smile, "you scared me!"

"Good," he scoffed, "That's what you get when you sneak up on people."

Bonnie rolled her eyes gently, and turned onto her stomach to face him, propping herself up on her elbows. She brought a hand to his chest. "How are you?"

The fingers of his left hand met her hand and he laced their fingers together affectionately, "Good. I feel good."

Bonnie looked down at their interwoven hands, "So, good? ...Nothing strange or…" she tried to think of the best way to put it delicately, "…off?"

Jeremy looked at her, "Uhh…like what?"

Bonnie played with his hand, and tilted her head, but didn't meet his eyes, "I don't know…like, _off_?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

Bonnie sighed and decided to come clean; "It's probably nothing, but…"

"But?"

"When I…when _we_ brought you back – the witches…they warned me…they said that there would be 'consequences.'

"Consequences," Jeremy repeated.

Bonnie smiled and met his gaze; "But, you're good, right? I mean, they kind of scared me – but, I think that might have been the point. To teach me a lesson about abusing their power, I mean." _And boy did it work_.

Jeremy answered absently; "Good – Yeah, I'm good."

"Well…Good!" Bonnie leaned forward and kissed him, feeling relieved.

* * *

><p>"So, I guess Elena filled you in on everything?" Bonnie was nuzzled into Jeremy's side, as he stroked her hair. Jeremy looked pensive, but Bonnie couldn't see his face.<p>

"What? ...Oh, yeah…Yeah," he said again with more animation, "What are we going to do? Elena said that you were going to try a locator spell?"

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice a little flat; "key word there being 'try.'"

"Bonnie, if you don't feel up to it…"

Bonnie cut him off, "No. It isn't that."

"Well, what is it?"

"I just don't know if it's going to work, Jeremy. Stefan's a vampire – the rules aren't the same."

Jeremy smiled, "There are rules?"

Bonnie threw him an affectionate side-long glance, one brow raised in mock affront, "Yes, Jeremy – there _are _rules." And, I have already broken enough of them lately… She raised herself up, "Anyway, I should start setting up for the spell – Damon should be here anytime now."

Jeremy brought himself into a sitting position, "I'll help. I'm just gonna grab a sweatshirt…" He went over to his bureau.

Bonnie waited for him by his desk, idly leafing through a sketchpad she found there. She focused in on one particular drawing. She held it up, "Is this the witch burning ground?"

Jeremy looked up, "Oh yeah. The dead witch manor house – you like it?"

Confused, Bonnie hesitated; "Yeah, I mean – it's good – but, what made you draw that?"

Jeremy shrugged as he put one arm and then another into a beige, pullover sweatshirt, "Dunno. Just felt like it, I guess. Come on, I think I heard the door."

Bonnie looked at the sketch again before placing the pad down on the desk where she had found it. She felt an inexplicable uneasiness about it, which she couldn't quite shake as she followed him out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile…Back Downstairs at Alaric's 'Save the Children Foundation'<strong>

Elena was answering the door as Bonnie and Jeremy descended the stairs. She had expected it to be Damon, and was a little surprised when she saw Alaric standing there with a shopping bag; "Ric?"

Ric smiled, "I hope I'm not too early for the party?"

"No, no – Damon isn't here yet. Come in." She held the door open for him.

"Riiic," Jeremy greeted loudly from the stairs, "How's it going?"

"Hey, Jer. Bonnie;" Ric turned and nodded in greeting. "Actually Jeremy, I could use a little help out here…"

Elena followed his eyes to his car – and more shopping bags. "Ric - what is all this?"

Jeremy had come to greet his history teacher at the door, with Bonnie just behind him, "Hi Mr. Saltzman," she said.

"You can call me Ric, Bonnie – we aren't in class," he responded as he clapped Jeremy on the back, "And you – get out there and help me with these groceries."

Jeremy's eyes lit up, "Food? You brought food? Alright!" He grinned and was out the door.

"Ric," Elena began, "You didn't have to do this…"

"I know, but I did. So, here…" He handed her the bag he was holding, "You take this into the kitchen, and I'll go help Jeremy with the rest."

Bonnie smiled and exchanged a bemused glance with Elena, motioning for her to just accept it and take the food into the kitchen, "You need it."

Still surprised, Elena spluttered, "Ric, I…"

"When I was here this morning, I could see that you didn't have anything – please just…"

Jeremy called from outside, "Ric, you brought beer? You rock, man!"

Ric jumped a little, turning to go outside; "Uh, that's _my_ bag, Jeremy…"

* * *

><p>Alaric and Elena busied themselves in the kitchen, putting away the groceries while Bonnie and Jeremy set up for the locator spell in the living room. Not knowing where an Original might go, Bonnie had packed every map that she could find in her house, plus whatever maps Jeremy and Elena had. They had finally settled on a large map of the United States to start with, figuring that they could always go global if this turned up nothing. They cleared a place on the floor and spread it open.<p>

Caroline showed up; and soon thereafter Damon. Before long, the entire Gilbert living room was awash in candlelight.

Everyone was assembled, everyone was tense.

Damon leaned in close to Bonnie and indicating the candles, murmured in her ear: "Is this all _really_ necessary?"

Bonnie set her mouth in a taught line, her expression haughty, but refused to look at Damon; "You want to find your brother, don't you?"

Damon backed off, still skeptical; "Fine."

Jeremy, standing on Bonnie's other side asked if she was ready.

Bonnie nodded, and Damon clapped his hands together; "Okay. Let's do this thing."

Bonnie, Jeremy, Damon and Elena crowded around the map, with Alaric and Caroline just behind them, watching.

"Damon," Bonnie began, "Did you bring something that belongs to Stefan?"

"Oh, right," Damon went over to the coffee table to retrieve the item and tossed it to Bonnie.

"A Book?" she asked.

"No," Damon sneered, "Not just _a_ book – it's Stefan's diary."

"Damon!" Elena chastised, "You couldn't find anything _else_?"

Damon looked at Elena, "_You_ try finding anything in that pigsty – how do I know what's important to him or not – he keeps _everything_."

Elena was about to say something else, but Bonnie cut her off, "Actually, Elena – this is perfect. You can't get much more personal than a diary."

Damon rolled his eyes; "Yeah, well let's hope it makes a better magical talisman than it does reading material…"

"Damon!"

"_Elena_."

"Uh, guys," Alaric interrupted, "Can we get on with the actual spell?"

"Seriously," Caroline chimed in.

Damon spun around on Caroline; "_You_ don't talk – I am still trying to _process_ the fact that you invited a rabid dog to the Grill with us tomorrow."

"Oh, get over it, Damon," Caroline sulked defiantly.

"Guys, really," Ric tried again.

Bonnie just exchanged an impatient look with Jeremy.

"Enough," Elena shouted looking around the room; "Can we just let Bonnie do the spell to find Stefan? You remember _Stefan_?"

Damon shot Caroline one last glare, before Alaric nudged him gently away and he rejoined the group at the map, composing himself.

"Here," Bonnie said, handing Damon a knife, "Just cut your hand and let the blood drip onto the map, while I chant." Wordlessly, Damon took the knife from her and sliced open his left palm, holding his closed fist over the map.

"I think it's working," Jeremy informed the group, as the blood swirled around erratically, and Caroline strained to get a better look while Bonnie chanted in an obscure Latin-y sounding language.

"Why is it always Latin?" Damon wondered aloud, before Elena shushed him.

"It's heading south," She observed.

"They're still in _Virginia_?" Ric was incredulous.

"Did it stop?" Caroline wanted to know.

"Everyone shut up," Damon warned. "There it's slowing down – where is that?"

Jeremy broke from the group, "I'll grab Jenna's laptop. Someone read me the exact location and I'll 'Bing' it."

Everyone but Bonnie and Caroline turned to look at Jeremy, confused.

"Bing?" Alaric asked.

"No one uses Bing, Jer," Elena followed up.

"Don't you read the news, Jeremy? Even _Bing_ uses Google," Damon snarked.

Caroline came to Jeremy's defense; "Oh, don't listen to them, Jeremy, _I_ use Bing."

Damon rolled his eyes. _She would use Bing._

Bonnie jumped in, absolutely bewildered; "Uh, guys? It's still moving. Can we focus, please?"

All eyes fell back to the bloody map. "That's here – that's Mystic Falls," Elena exclaimed, excited, "They're still _here._"

"That doesn't make any _sense_," Damon swore.

Alaric found a map of Virginia, in order to pinpoint a more precise location, and they repeated the exercise.

* * *

><p>"It found <em>me<em>? What do you mean it found _me_?" Damon demanded angrily.

"I'm sorry, Damon – I thought _maybe_…."

"I don't care if you're sorry - I'm not the one that's _lost_, Bonnie," Damon informed her with dark condescension.

Bonnie tried to level a nasty look at him, even while attempting to comfort Elena; "I _told_ you it might not work."

"So… now what?" Alaric put himself between Damon and Bonnie, as Jeremy and Caroline came to escort a disappointed Elena into the kitchen.

"Now," Bonnie declared without acknowledging Alaric, "_You_ need a new plan."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Elena's Bedroom of Tortured and Tenuous Entanglements.<strong>

Elena sat alone in front of her vanity taking stock of the day. Caroline and Damon had gone home after the failed locator spell fiasco; Caroline to see her mother and Damon to blow off some steam. Alaric had stayed and made dinner for herself, Jeremy and Bonnie – who was spending the night in the next room. Ric had stayed also. Elena thought that he was trying to look out for them, and she was grateful. She had offered him Jenna's bedroom – but, he had declined, preferring to sleep on the couch in the living room.

She finished brushing her long hair, tied it back in a pony tail and stood to get into bed, "Damon!" She started slightly when saw him in her doorway, quietly watching her, one hand still on the door that he had pushed open, the other hidden behind the wall, "I thought you left."

"I did," he said simply.

Elena wondered how long he had been standing there in silence and the thought did not strike her as being nearly as creepy and disturbing as it used to – and that was mildly disturbing in and of itself. That combined with the sudden awareness of how little she was wearing combined to send her blood rushing into her cheeks.

"Cute PJ's," he observed from his station hovering between her bedroom and the hallway.

Elena startled again at the familiarity of those words, some echo or memory or shadow niggling at her mind, threatening to surface, threatening to expose her somehow…and she felt herself blush again, a darker shade of red, "I…What…" she started to speak, without knowing what she was going to say.

"Relax," Damon smiled only a mildly predatory smile – misinterpreting her incoherence and her obvious discomfort, "I came to check on you – and to bring you this." He brought his heretofore hidden hand into view to reveal a steaming cup of tea.

"You came up to my bedroom…to bring me _tea_?"

"Ooh," he smirked, batting his eyes at her flirtatiously, "It sounds so dirty when you say it like _that._"

Elena balked.

"It's vervain tea. You need to drink it," he said seriously, handing her the cup, "We _all_ need to be ingesting vervain…We have no idea where Klaus is, or when we might run into him."

Elena nodded and took the cup, "Jeremy…"

"Bonnie is bringing his tea up to him."

Elena sat down on the edge of her bed, and sipped at the tea.

Damon threw himself down on the bed next to her and shoved a pillow under his head; "So, you _like_ me, huh?"

"Damon," Elena answered, annoyed but smiling in spite of herself; "you made me spill the tea…"

"There's more downstairs….So, really Elena – do you like me, or do you like: _like_ me like me?"

Elena just rolled her eyes in amused irritation at the 'eye-thing' he was sending her way – but, really she felt affection and relief. So, much relief… that he was still around to amuse and irritate her, and look at her inappropriately. She just smirked, "So, you and Bonnie made tea together?"

"Please – that witch couldn't find water in a storm…_or_ a kettle," he sneered, sitting up.

Elena frowned, "You're not still mad at her, are you – Bonnie did her best."

"Yeah," he agreed oozing sarcasm and disdain, "too bad for us that her best sucks."

"Hey – we'll find another way."

Damon stood; "Spare me the platitudes, Elena." He turned to face her, eyes flashing, "Are you even paying attention? I don't have any idea where Klaus is – I don't know how to find Stefan…we are screwed."

Elena set her cup on her nightstand and stood, "Am _I_ paying attention? My entire family is _dead_, Damon - except for Jeremy – who had to be _brought back_, my boyfriend is gone and with Klaus; who killed me, Caroline and Tyler were almost sacrificed, Bonnie almost sacrificed herself, and _you_ almost died trying to keep it from happening. Did I miss anything, Damon?"

"Elena, I…"

"Bonnie will find something…we'll find something…"

"I hope you're right."

"I am. And until then, we just have to trust that Stefan can take care of himself. If Klaus wanted to kill him, he could have."

Damon started to say something derisive and unkind about Stefan's ability to 'take care of himself,' but he stopped himself, and nodding he turned to go. Remembering something, he turned back to Elena and pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, "I almost forgot. I found your phone in my room. Here."

She thanked him as she stared down at the phone in her hand, "Damon?"

"Hm?"

"Katherine compelled you – when you were human, right?"

Damon looked thoroughly confused by this line of questioning; "Where the hell is this coming from?"

"I was just…I wanted to know what it felt like, after you turned, when you started to remember."

Damon stared at her, "No," he answered flatly, "I knew everything."

"She must have compelled you about _something_…" Elena insisted.

Damon turned away from her, uncomfortable, his eyes in 1864; "If she did – it wasn't about anything important… nothing that I would still remember now." He looked at Elena sharply, his pale blue gaze almost accusing; "And why are you suddenly so curious?"

Somehow the question seemed loaded with meaning to Elena - not just a question but also anger at her for forcing this issue, anger at Katherine's betrayal, anger at his own stupidity, and a rebuke to her for not being curious about it before, for not being more curious about _him_ before. They would be here all night if Elena was going to peel away the various layers of meaning and emotion behind the way he was looking at her now.

Abruptly it occurred to Elena that all her freaky déjà vu moments had been around _Damon._ All at once her lips parted, her brow creased and her answering brown eyes darkened with suspicion and disbelief. "You," She choked in a low voice, "You compelled me." It was a statement and it was a question.

Damon's face did the equivalent of an emotional 180 – his anger gone, replaced by shock; "Elena…"

Not hearing an immediate denial, Elena considered her suspicions were confirmed; "I'm remembering something that _you_ did…"

Damon shook his head; "That's not possible."

"What did you _do_? Why would you make me forget?" Unconsciously, Elena reached for the vervain necklace that she no longer possessed, her hands instead tracing her bare neck.

Finally, convinced that this was actually happening, Damon brought his hands up in supplication and tried to approach her, to calm her; "Not did - said. It was just something that I said, Elena – I promise." No other supernatural tripwires, my ass.

Elena shook her head and tried to back away to avoid Damon's touch, as he grabbed her arms with his hands, "I promise," he said again.

She stilled, "Well," she asked, "What did you say that was so terrible that you had to compel it away?"

Damon dropped her arms, tilted his head back and closed his eyes, resigned; "I…told you that I loved you."

"Oh," Elena was confused.

Damon opened his eyes again and looked at her, smirking again; "Well, it's kind of anti-climactic _now_."

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Sorry – but, I *really* did not want to drag that out - and after the deathbed confession - it **_**is**_** kind of anti-climactic. Lol. **

**Also: That bit about Bing using Google - totally true. Google it. Haha.  
><strong>

**Also, Broken Memories: Damon is *never* besides the point. Ever. ;)**


	11. In the Company of Originals

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to. Especially, one Damon Salvatore. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank You, as always, to those of you who took the time to review the last chapter – knowing that you guys are interested definitely helps me stay motivated.**

**Also: Klaus makes me laugh…a lot...Stefan, not so much. ;) **

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 11: In the Company of Originals.**

**Setting: A Random Marshy Glade of Murder and Manipulation.**

Stefan straightened and wiped the blood from his lips with his sleeve. He had needed it after Klaus had vervained him for their 'trip'. Too much. Now, his jaw a little slack, his eyes still bloodshot and such a dark shade of red that they bordered on black, he gaped down at the young, red-haired woman with the glazed-over and unseeing grey eyes. Her dead, limp body was an accusation for a crime that Stefan struggled to understand, as he stared down at her spilled blood in confused fascination.

"Well done, Ripper," Klaus lauded, bringing his hands together for a slow clap, and breaking through the spell of the blood. He looked at Klaus, who was watching him with undisguised pleasure and amusement.

They had disembarked for 'brunch,' and Stefan didn't even know where they were. It was hot, though, and it was a little humid even though it appeared to be early. "Where are we?" Stefan managed in a choked growl.

Klaus tossed Stefan a handkerchief, "Does it matter?" he queried.

No. Not really, Stefan thought – as long as they were nowhere near Mystic Falls…and Elena. He just made an unintelligible noise deep in his throat, as he took the proffered handkerchief, his eyes glinting with bitter hatred for his companion.

Klaus contemplated his young ward, "We are in southern Florida, "he said, indicating the young woman wearing khaki's, binoculars and high rubber boots," very close to the Everglades, I believe….I thought I might wrestle an alligator as long as we're here – marvelous creatures, glorious teeth, very efficient predators."

That meant that it was not the same morning that they had left Mystic Falls, Stefan had been out for at least a day; "What do you want with me?"

"Ah, Stefan," Klaus tisked kneeling to more closely inspect the girl, inhaling deeply of the scent of death and blood, "Remember – it was what _you_ wanted from me, that landed you here, and not the other way around." He stood, "However, as I now _have_ you – I want to _help_ you…"

Stefan grunted his disbelief - he had heard this sales pitch before.

Klaus raised a brow; "Oh, come now Stefan – you can use your words with me. There's no need to be uncivilized." Klaus hid his sarcasm behind his soft and lilting voice. Nothing would give him greater satisfaction than to see Stefan throw off all the trappings of 'civilized' existence. He took his bloodied handkerchief back from Stefan. "It's really too bad we already missed Mardi Gras. We might have gone to New Orleans," he continued happily. "Although, as I understand it: we are just in time for a wonderful American tradition known as 'Spring Break'- where the young women practically throw themselves at your feet – _you're_ a teenager, aren't you? You should fit right in. Or, _perhaps_ you would prefer Disneyworld?"

Stefan tensed, "Those are _children_ Klaus. You can't make me kill children."

"Can't I?" Klaus wondered aloud, before suddenly and violently grabbing Stefan – thrusting the bloody cloth into his human face until he could see the younger vampires veins emerge. "You see Stefan, I don't _like_ being told what I cannot do;" the softness of his voice never wavered, "I never have. And, I certainly won't be told by a baby vampire. I just _might_ take it into my head to teach you a lesson – by hunting down your brother. Incidentally, did you know that he tried to volunteer himself to be sacrificed? Probably to save _you_. Runs in the family, I suppose." Klaus paused meaningfully as Stefan stopped struggling, "Do you understand me?" Klaus let go his hold, leaving Stefan heaving for air and battling his hunger and his fear. "_Do_ _you understand me?"_ he said again.

"Yes," Stefan breathed viciously, "Yes, I understand."

Klaus was not entirely satisfied; "You know what _I_ don't understand, Stefan? Your loyalty to your brother, while pathetic, is comprehensible to me – I did have family once. Your loyalty, however, to these…" Klaus almost allowed a gentle sneer to mar his features, once again indicating the dead girl sprawled out on the spongy earth, "…humans…is not." Klaus focused closely on Stefan, "They are _all_ mindless children compared to us…Tell me… is there something still tying you to your 'human' life? I am trying to liberate you – is there something still holding you back?"

Stefan was leaned over onto himself, his hands on his knees trying to steady himself – body and mind. "No," he spat out, "they're all dead. _You_ made sure of that."

"I wonder," he said tilting his head slightly at Stefan, "Could it be that my brother's potion worked? Is it the memory of the very lovely and still living _Elena_ that holds you back?"

Stefan put all that was left of his strength and weakened integrity into his answering words, "It didn't work," he responded, "She's dead."

"I don't think I believe you…Are you lying to me, Stefan?" Klaus paused, wishing the vervain out of Stefan's system, before changing the subject abruptly, "Come. _She_ will have friends close by – and I _know_ that you must still be hungry after your long sleep." Unaware that Katherine had already beat him to the punch, Klaus had called his pre-compelled 'contact' at the Port back in Mystic Falls last night to alter the shipping schedule and destinations of his cargo – but, perhaps a brief return to that town would be a good idea, especially if just the threat of a return, and a dine-and-dash at Space Mountain accomplished nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Parlour of the Salvatore Boarding House: Don't Mind if I do…<strong>

Alaric stood just outside the Boarding House door with duffel bag slung over one shoulder, one hand raised as though to ring the bell, when Damon threw the door open, "Ric. Did you bring your toys?"

Ric wondered why he even bothered attempting to knock when Damon always heard him coming, "Yeah, one of everything – just like you wanted," he paused, "Can I ask?"

Damon shrugged and stepped aside to let Ric in, "I told Liz that I could help her protect this town."

Walking through the foyer of the large house, Ric turned to look at Damon, eyebrows raised slightly; "You're going to give her weapons? To use against _vampires_?" Maybe that fever had done more damage than Ric had thought.

"Don't look at me like that, Ric." Damon passed Ric and entered the parlour before him, "I'm not gonna offer her anything that might actually be _lethal._" Damon liked Liz – but, the woman wouldn't know a vampire if it jumped up and bit her – literally. The only actual threat on that council had been John Gilbert – and he had given up his life to save Elena's. And that had been a good trade, as far as Damon was concerned.

Ric followed Damon into the parlour and set down his duffel, "I thought you were going to compel her?"

"I am. Probably." Walking over to the bar, Damon poured himself and Ric a drink, "I snatched the vervain she had in her office," he took a swig, "which, she isn't going to be happy about when she notices, by the way," he extended one hand to Ric offering him some bourbon, "but, that still leaves two or three days before the vervain she's already ingested passes out of her system."

Ric looked at the glass Damon was holding out to him, "It's not even noon yet, Damon…"

"Your point?"

Alaric considered this argument for a moment and accepted the bourbon, "So, you want to placate her with non-lethal weapons…so that she'll trust you, before you compel her."

"Something like that, yeah."

Ric was skeptical, "But, if she actually trusted you, then maybe, you wouldn't _have_ to compel her." Ric sat down and placed his glass down on the coffee table.

"Please," Damon glanced down at Ric's drink, "If _you_ had pledged yourself to killing vampires, would _you_ trust me?"

Ric looked at Damon.

"Okay – bad example," Damon conceded. "And would it _kill_ you to use a coaster?"

* * *

><p>A few drinks later Damon and Alaric had settled on slightly diluted vervain grenades (Ric was sure that he could rig them to break and spill if someone tried to actually siphon the vervain out), and a few wood-tipped brass knuckles for close combat. Nothing that could do too much damage, at any rate. They sat in relative and companionable silence in their respective armchairs. Alaric had just shared with Damon Caroline's innocent remark about moving into the Gilbert house and the thought process that that comment had set into motion. Ric waited for a response as Damon considered the possibility.<p>

Damon figured that Jeremy and Elena would be safer with Ric there than without. God knows _someone_ needed to keep an eye on those two – and short of Damon himself moving in…but, Damon had other things that he needed to think about too, and Elena might not want him there quite as much while she sorted out her '_feelings_' about having been compelled by him. Damon rolled his eyes, but only slightly and only to himself. To Ric he said, "I think it's a good idea."

"Yeah?" Alaric's voice was hesitant.

"Yeah," Damon reiterated, the idea growing on him, "It's Jenna's family, your wife's daughter – it's almost poetic."

Ric just grunted his appreciation for the _poetry_ of it all and punctuated it by polishing off his third bourbon. "_Ex-_wife," he muttered into his glass with a hint of manly petulance in his tone.

Damon ignored Ric's last comment and went on; "Although," Damon continued thoughtfully, "If I were you – I wouldn't waste any time in getting that Magic-Protecto Ring back from Elena."

Ric looked silently down at his unadorned hands, and then at Damon.

Without looking at Alaric, Damon picked up the bottle of bourbon off the floor near his feet and held it out to his friend, "Guardianship of these kids _never_ ends well."

Alaric grimaced and took the bottle from Damon knowing that he was right; "I can't ask her for it. She should have it. She should _wear_ it…" Ric's face quirked in confusion; "_Why_ doesn't she wear it?"

"It would seem that she is too _supernatural_. Magic doppelganger, yadda, yadda, yadda." Damon narrowed his eyes and made a face; "Also, _Elijah_ said so."

"Oh," Ric briefly tried to give the impression of understanding before giving up that ghost entirely; "But, she isn't supernatural enough to be immune to compulsion? I kind of thought it was an either-or thing."

"Yeah, well, apparently the universe grades on a curve."

"Huh."

Damon's cell phone rang, and he frowned digging it out of his pocket – it was Caroline. "Barbie," he answered. After listening quietly for a moment or two, Damon responded; "Fine. You just make sure that you're back in time for our little United Nations play date this afternoon." He hung up the phone.

"What was that about?"

"Barbie and Elena are going to pay a little visit to the Gilbert family lawyers in charge of her parent's estate, and then to the bank in to 'convince' them that Elena is twenty-one…"

"…To free up finances," Alaric finished his sentence. It was a smart move. Ric was saddened that it was necessary but also a little relieved knowing that there was no way he support himself and two teenagers on the salary of a public school teacher – he didn't even have tenure yet. He had called in sick today – food poisoning from the Chinese place. If he kept that up – he might not even have a job for very long. Suddenly, he looked over at Damon; "Uh… who's watching Jeremy?"

Who's _watching_ Jeremy? Damon narrowed his eyes at his friend, "I think the witch is with him…_why?"_

"Uh, yeah," Ric took a final swig of bourbon to brace himself; "about that. You remember when I said that there were 'complications'?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Gilbert (Haunted) House of Enigmatic Apparitions.<strong>

Jeremy was lying in his bed when Vicki walked in, smiling, from the bathroom wearing an over-sized dark tee-shirt and pajama pants; "I think you might be in trouble," she said in a tone that implied no real worry or concern.

"What'd you do?" Jeremy asked with matching unconcern, as he embraced the girl with her arms already wrapped around him; who had spent the night in his room with him.

"Elena saw me."

"I'm a drug-using delinquent," he informed her with the hint of a smile in his sleepy voice, "… girl in bed doesn't really rank, sorry." She kissed him.

Jeremy started and looked around his bed room, disoriented – his short-lived contentedness falling away from him, like waking up from a dream. Had he been dreaming? It _was_ still morning, he thought, but only barely - and, he was not lying in his bed. He was not sleeping. He was sketching at his desk, listening to music - alone. Vicki wasn't here. Vicki was dead, he reminded himself, sadly but sternly. Why was Vicki dead, again? 'Stefan,' the name of his sister's vampire boyfriend surfaced in his hazy mind. But, why…?

Abruptly Jeremy stood, dropping his sketch pad, and passed both hands over his face roughly. Vicki had been turned, Vicki had been dangerous, and Vicki had been killed – his more recent memories flooding his brain. And, every one of these episodes left Jeremy's mind reeling, his memory more and more confused, his reality more and more mixed up.

These were the 'consequences,' he thought grimly. But, again… why? Were they trying to tell him something – or was this _just_ to drive him insane? Jeremy thought that maybe it was time to share with the group – but, even as the thought flittered through his mind, the memories began to fade...

He bent down to retrieve his sketch-pad and saw what he had drawn. It was the face of a man that he did not recognize – with short ashy blond hair and a lion-ish quality, but smiling – like a predator preparing to pounce. Looking pensively at the portrait of his own creation, Vicki's voice floated back to him from a spot in his room behind him, disembodied: "I think you might be in trouble." But, this time the words did not feel so carefree, and Jeremy felt a cold chill run down his spine. "Why?" he spun around, bewildered, and asked the empty room.

Unnerved by his room – though uncertain as to whether he was more unnerved by hearing disembodied voices, or by the total silence that his question had elicited, Jeremy left his bed room; and his sketch and headed downstairs.

* * *

><p>Bonnie had returned home briefly after a late breakfast with Jeremy and Elena to retrieve a few additional grimoires from her house that she hoped would prove more helpful in finding Stefan. Mr. Saltzman had already gone home – to his apartment to collect some weapons. Caroline had come over around eleven thirty to pick up Elena, and Bonnie had left Jeremy contentedly sketching in his room. She gave a little involuntary shiver, remembering the latest subject of Jeremy's artistic interest – but, pushed it aside, ascribing it to coincidence, or an until recently latent morbid streak in Jeremy – that <em>was<em> the location of his resurrection, after all, she mused.

Back at the Gilbert house now - it was just before one o'clock, and Bonnie tried the front door. Finding it unlocked (locks didn't do much to keep the _real_ threats out, really), she let herself in.

"Anna? Anna, what's wrong?"

Bonnie heard Jeremy's terrified voice from the kitchen. Immediately confused and scared, she dropped her shopping bag of spell books and rushed into the next room, "Jeremy?" she called out.

"What's happening?" He demanded; his fear and concern coming through in waves with every syllable which he uttered.

At a loss seeing Jeremy kneeling down on the kitchen floor, holding onto the air, Bonnie tried to answer him; "Jeremy? What? What is it? What's happened?"

"Hey, what are you doing? ...What are you doing?" Jeremy's voice continued to increase in pitch and desperation.

Baffled and disconcerted, Bonnie raced over to Jeremy and knelt beside him on the floor, "I'm not doing anything, Jeremy! What's going on? Is it Elena?"

Jeremy just continued his shaky pleas, Bonnie unacknowledged; "Hey! Hey, leave her alone! Anna!" He tried to push Bonnie aside unthinkingly, but she held him back. "Anna?" She breathed, her face ashen and her stomach wrenching with a deep and unspoken fear.

Jeremy tried to break through her hold on him; "What are you doing? Anna!" He cried, "Leave her alone!"

Jeremy sobbing quietly - the fight gone out of him – relaxed his efforts to break Bonnie's grasp and she loosened her grip in turn. Bonnie tried to force Jeremy's eyes to meet her own, one hand cupping the side of his tear streaked face; "Jeremy," she said trying to control the hysteria that was threatening to impose itself on her inflection. "Jeremy – it's Bonnie. Anna isn't here…she's dead."

Jeremy looked at her – but, he wasn't really there; "Did you do this? What did you do?"

Bonnie reeled back a little, but didn't look away. She had never really considered that Anna's death was her fault – that she was caught and killed because Bonnie hadn't unspelled the device as she said that she had. She hadn't thought that Jeremy had blamed her either. She shook herself slightly – this wasn't really Jeremy; "It… was an accident, Jer – you know that…"

Jeremy's head whipped around at the sound of something that Bonnie could not hear.

"I can't," he cried out, "I can't, Anna! ...I can't make it stop!"

Jeremy crumpled to the floor, bringing a stricken Bonnie down with him.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Sheriff Forbes Office: No Detail Unobserved.<br>**

Damon had been right. Liz was, indeed, unhappy when she realized that her vervain was gone. "Damon," she muttered accusatorily. He had been in here unsupervised for God only knows how long before she got here, and she was angry at herself that she hadn't thought to check her supply before now. He hadn't hurt her, though, and he had been upfront about the fact that he wanted to compel her. His honesty was a cold consolation to the sheriff however, as she shoved her drawer closed in frustration – the small lock on it having been broken. She wondered again, just _how_ this meeting was going to play out.

She had just gotten a call from a contact in the Grove Hill police department – a former Mystic Falls deputy that had relocated a few years back when he married a woman from the neighboring town. Apparently, a local man had gone missing the night before. Normally, someone would have to be missing for more than only twelve hours for a general alert to make its way around nearby communities – but, this man was Grove Hill P.D. He had responded to a call last night about noise and trespassing in an unoccupied home. And he had never returned. A missing cop was a big deal out in the suburbs – but, Liz was caught up in the detail of the location: A bank foreclosure. It _could_ be that it was a group of bored and drugged-out teenagers throwing a 'kegger' – the place had already been cleaned out by the time a second unit was dispatched to check the place out around six AM. But, then – what had become of the officer? Caroline, she knew, had been home last night – having left Damon 'harmlessly' at the Gilbert home. Though, it wouldn't take him long to get over to Grove Hill if _he_ had been involved – although, Liz wasn't certain that she actually believed that he was. She would ask – and if she believed him – then their tentative understanding might be put to an early test.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Geez – Is it wrong that writing Klaus amused me greatly? 'Klaus – you've just broken the centuries old curse that held back your werewolf-side…What are you going to do now?' Klaus: 'I'm going to Disneyworld!' Lol. Well, at least, I can still make ME laugh. But, will Klaus break Stefan?  
><strong>

**Also: the scene between Jeremy and Vicki was lifted from TVD S1E5: 'You're Undead to Me'. And the Jeremy side of the Jeremy/Anna dialogue was pulled from S1E22: 'Founder's Day'.**

**Also: Be kind, and drop me a line. Thanks!**


	12. Realizations,Recriminations,Negotiations

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to. Especially, one Damon Salvatore. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: LOL: So glad you all liked Klaus in Florida! Broken Memories – I think Klaus on the Tower of Terror would, indeed, be a sight to behold! Also: Thank You again to those I cannot PM: Broken Memories, Joyce and the mysterious 'Anonymous' for taking the time to review. I'm writing this story for me – but, also I'm writing it for you guys – so, I really appreciate the reviews and the comments. :D**

**Also: Matt makes a cameo – but, don't get too excited Matt-lovers: he is just as useless here as he is on the show! ;) Sorry…**

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 12: Realizations, Recriminations and Negotiations.**

**Setting: The Gilbert House of The Restless Dead.**

Hearing a car pull up to the Gilbert house, Bonnie raced down the stairs and into the living room. She had tried calling Elena, but having been unable to reach her, had called Damon instead. Pulling the door open, she wasted no time with niceties: "There's something wrong with Jeremy," she said quickly, her young and unlined face haggard with worry.

"Yeah, thanks," Damon turned to glare at Alaric entering the house just behind him, "– I _just_ got that memo."

But, Ric wasn't interested in recriminations at the moment; "Where is he?"

"Wait – you knew?" Bonnie was incredulous, and a little angry.

Alaric scanned the first floor of the house hurriedly before focusing on Bonnie; "I didn't know how bad it was…and he didn't want you to know – I'm sorry."

"Where's Elena," Damon cut in, "Does she know yet?"

"I tried to call her – her phone went to voicemail," she turned back to Alaric, "What do you mean he didn't want me to know?" Bonnie sounded almost hurt.

Damon really did not want to deal with the teen-romance aspect just now; "Jer made his newest bestie Ric here pinky swear to keep it on the D.L., so _you_ wouldn't kill yourself trying to help him... Now, where is he?"

Bonnie looked at Ric.

Alaric inclined his head sideways towards Damon; "What he said."

"He's upstairs. I just left him lying down." It figures, Bonnie thought, that Jeremy was keeping this quiet to protect _her_. It was both touching, sweet and really, really stupid.

"I'll try Barbie's phone – they should be together," Damon whipped out his cell.

Ric glanced quickly at Damon and Bonnie, before heading up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Damon and Bonnie were sitting in silence in the kitchen when Alaric joined them there about ten minutes later. Bonnie was staring unblinking at a large glass of water, and Damon was, uncharacteristically, not drinking anything as he paced the kitchen and Ric supposed that there wasn't much here for him to drink. He looked up when Ric entered the room.<p>

"What do you mean – he sees dead people?" Bonnie asked. Obviously, they had been talking after all.

Damon glanced at Bonnie; "I mean that he see's dead people."

"Like in that movie," Alaric added unhelpfully as he took the chair across from Bonnie, "although, as far as I know – it isn't all dead people. Just Anna and some girl named Vicki."

Bonnie started in her seat; "Anna and Vicki?"

Well, so Jeremy was being haunted by two ex-girlfriends – Damon wasn't sure if that was a whole lot better than Bruce Willis following you around everywhere wanting to 'talk' – or a whole lot worse. He supposed that it would depend on the girlfriends. Damon tried to imagine having to pick between re-living moments with Katherine - or getting followed around by a broody, talking forehead. Jeremy's dark 'witchy' post-resurrection condition bore a striking and dismal resemblance to Damon's normal, actual life; "And, how is Haley Joel Gilbert doing now?" There was an undercurrent of distraction in his voice that spoke of his frustration and genuine concern. He tried to tell himself that it was just because of Elena.

Alaric shrugged; "He was sleeping when I left. Seems quiet now."

"Why would Jeremy be seeing Anna and Vicki?" Bonnie wondered aloud, "_These_ are the consequences?"

Damon gave Bonnie a sharp look; "Consequences?"

Bonnie closed her eyes tiredly as she answered, "It's the reason why I can't use the witches to help find Stefan. They believe that I've abused their power…and they're punishing me for it…They didn't want to help me save you either."

Damon's eyes narrowed, "You mean they're punishing _Jeremy_ for it." God, witches were worse than lawyers – at least lawyers just died - even _dead_ witches were judgey witches.

Ric grunted his dissatisfaction and agreement with that assessment.

"I have to do something," Bonnie opened her eyes.

"I agree," Damon agreed, "What?"

"I have to go back to the witches – they're the _only_ ones that know what's wrong with him."

"I thought you said that they wouldn't help," Damon said pointedly.

"And I thought, _you_ said that I should _make_ them help."

Alaric – who had witnessed the resurrection first-hand, and had felt the power and the hostility swirling around him spoke up; "Bonnie – are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, but..," she began.

"…It's the _only_ idea," Damon finished for her with dark resolve. This was Klaus all over again – and the only options were bad options.

Ric sighed, "Fine – but, don't go alone, okay?"

Bonnie stood resolutely; "Fine. You stay here with Jeremy and wait for Elena – Damon and I will go."

"Hold on, Teen-Witch – Jeremy is out cold, _you_ have no idea what you're dealing with and _we_ have a date with Liz at the Grill."

"This can't wait, Damon –," Bonnie lashed out, "and, _you_ should be eager to help, it's _your _fault he was shot, the sheriff was trying to shoot _you."_ Even as she spoke, she knew that she didn't really hold Damon responsible for what had happened to Jeremy – but, she didn't like feeling helpless, and she would say anything it took to get Damon to acquiesce.

Damon glared daggers at her, and Ric wanted to defend him, but he was cut off by Jeremy; "It wasn't his fault, Bonnie." No one had noticed when Jeremy entered, now all eyes turned to him, "and until we know exactly where the sheriff stands – we're all in danger," His tone changed, lightening somewhat, "Trust me, I know," he said trying to convey that he was okay now, and to diffuse the situation that he had just walked in on.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Grill: We Are Completely Unfazed By Random Man-Witch Fires - Can You Say The Same?<br>**

Ric, Caroline and Damon made their way as casually as possible around the perimeter of the Grill looking for deputies, looking for anything out of place. They came to a halt near the entrance and Caroline turned to Damon, her face asking if they could go inside. Damon nodded at Alaric and Ric passed through the doors of the Grill. Caroline turned to follow him and Damon held out an arm to stop her, "Listen," he said. After a brief pause, Caroline nodded.

Damon pretended to take a phone call, while Caroline checked her hair in the mirror of her compact as each vampire extended their senses; feeling their way around the noises and voices of a late afternoon in Mystic Falls. Finally satisfied, Damon flipped his phone closed and smiled crookedly at Caroline, "I always get a little jittery when it's time to meet the parents." Caroline made a face that was something between a smirk and a grimace as Damon opened the door and held it for her, "After you."

Alaric had already checked out the men's room, and now he was checking out the bar, carefully surveying the small pre-dinner crowd as he waited for his whiskey. He inclined his head towards a booth, when Damon caught his eye.

Damon, in turn, gave Caroline a little shove towards the place where her mother sat, as he sidled up to the bar and to Ric. He ordered a bourbon loudly and watched as the sheriff flinched and turned around. Damon offered her a charming, if sardonic grin and waved, "Ric?" he queried without disturbing his implacable smile, his eyes still on Liz.

"Men's room is clear," Ric answered in a low voice, his lips forced into a tight smile.

"And the Ladies?"

Ric sighed recalling that most recent indignity, "Yeah."

Damon turned to Ric and clapped him heartily on the back causing some of Ric's whiskey to spill as he lifted the glass to his mouth; "You're a good man, Ric." Damon signaled to the bartender that he would take his drink at a booth and crossed the room, throwing himself down with careless grace on the seat at the table across from Caroline and her mother, "Liz," he said.

"Damon." Liz was sitting, in uniform, with her shoulders stiff and straight and one arm hidden beneath the table – likely feeling reassuringly at the hilt of her wooden-bullet gun. Her other hand was in plain sight, on the table where Caroline held it in one of her own. Caroline smiled grimly, trying to keep up the pretense of a friendly chance meeting and nodded, tightening her grasp on her mother's hand – also meant as reassurance, as Damon sat with them. "Damon," she echoed.

Ric then squeezed into the booth next to Damon throwing his small duffel on the table, "Sheriff."

"Mr. Saltzman." Her voice was clipped, her features tight. Liz was surprised in spite of herself, though she tried to hide it. She knew that this man knew things – she had found him in the Salvatore basement the night she had gone looking for Damon – but, she also knew (now) that Damon had turned his wife. Who _was_ this man who was teaching their children? What was the nature of his relationship with Damon? What, exactly, was the extent of his involvement? Liz didn't exactly mind having another human at the table, but she also didn't exactly trust Alaric Saltzman.

Damon, senses on high alert despite his surface show of laid-back and controlled faux camaraderie, noticed two things on the other side of the restaurant. One: That Tyler Lockwood had just showed up, his eyes searching for their little group; and two: over by the bar, the bartender had just handed Damon's bourbon to Matt Donovan and was pointing at their table.

"Seriously?" Matt intoned wearily, his eyes taking in the unlikely group assembled there.

Tyler walked towards the bar, his dark eyes – a medium brown with amber highlights – quickly finding Matt standing not five feet away. Following his friend's dismayed eyes first to Damon, who eyed Tyler balefully, before settling on the golden waves of Caroline's hair and betraying a small reflexive smile of contentment. "Matt," he said, pointing at the tray which held the shot glass, "I got that."

Matt turned, half relieved and half suspicious. Whatever it was – he just didn't care. "Would you, man?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Thanks," he said, handing Tyler the drink, and quickly moving away.

Tyler stared after his friend for a moment, wondering if things would ever be 'normal' between them again, as Damon reached over and tapped the empty table immediately in front of Caroline; "You," he said – making a conscious effort to not call her Barbie or any of his other…easily misconstrued terms of endearment… in front of Liz, "your pet is here – I suggest that you keep him quiet or I'll muzzle him for you."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Katherine Pierce's Baby-Vamp Day Care Center: Suck On This.<br>**

Katherine had been forced to give up their previous house after the incident with the police officer. That had been…messy. She would simply have compelled him and sent him on his way; had not one of her hungry newbies decided that he wanted a late-night snack. Now they were seeking shelter in yet another vacant suburban home – this one less opulently furnished, less well-maintained by any bank and in a less well-to-do neighborhood. Katherine was not best pleased by this development - but at least, in this more blighted community in which it seemed that foreclosed homes were just as common as the inhabited ones – there would be fewer entitled neighbors to deal with, and a less visible police presence. Also, at least it wasn't Detroit. And, besides, after tonight – they would need a place closer to Mystic Falls. Perhaps, the obliging Mrs. Flowers?

The last of Katherine's new pets had finally woken up, and she counted heads as she handed out blood-bags. Seven. _Huh._ How had she managed to lose one already? She had wanted one for each Original body that needed carrying. This was worse than herding cats. She looked aggrieved. "Eli?" She called out sharply.

Eli looked up at her, blood trickling down one side of his mouth, but did not answer immediately. Finally: "That's not my name, Katherine," he whined. Katherine rolled her eyes and knocked the blood bag aggressively out of his hands – grabbing the erstwhile 'Eli' by the throat, lifting him four inches off the floor. He had been her favorite, but now that she could no longer compel him, he was being difficult, petulant and precious, "I don't care who you were, I don't care who you think you were – and I don't care what your name is." She tightened her grip on his windpipe and squeezed. "I only care that you help me accomplish what I need to accomplish. Understand?" Eli tried to nod. "Good," she said sweetly dropping him to the floor. "Now, what is your name?" He looked at her confused as he rubbed his red and sore neck, sprawled where he had fallen. She looked up and away from him, already losing interest and sighed in exasperation, "Your _real_ name?"

"Thom…Thomas," he choked, still trying to wrap his mind around the contradiction that was Katherine's delicate frame being possessed of such preternatural strength.

"Okay, _Thomas_…" Katherine spat out his name with soft but derisive emphasis, "You and your friends want those daylight rings I promised, right?"

Opting not to speak again if he could help it - until it didn't hurt quite so much; Thomas nodded again.

"Good. Then you just do everything I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it – and we'll be fine," she paused here; combing her hands luxuriously through her hair, making sure that nothing was out of place - before tossing her head regally. "Tonight, if you are all good little boys – we will all get what we want."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile…Back at the Grill…<strong>

Liz looked through the small variety of weapons in the duffel bag that Alaric had slid over to her, "These are ingenious – you _made_ these?" If Liz was unduly impressed, it was a reflection of the fact that all the Founder's had were make-shift wooden bullets and close proximity and fragile vervain syringes – vervain grenades and long-range darts were, indeed, an upgrade.

Ric nodded, the nascent light of pride entering his light hazel eyes.

"Mr. Saltzman is really smart," Caroline added.

"Yeah, Ric's a dreamboat."

"And…you're a vampire hunter?" she asked quietly, "But, you two are friends?"

Damon and Ric exchanged a conscious glance and both men shrugged. "It's a long story," Alaric said even as Damon spoke over him; "More like friendly allies, really."

Liz leaned back and tried to comprehend this…quirky and friendly… _relationship_ that obviously existed between the two men sitting across from her. Saltzman had preceded Damon and Caroline into the bar – he had been their scout – which seemed to indicate that he was trusted by Damon. Saltzman had also been there, alone with Damon, when he was "sick" – which meant that the teacher had been administering to him, or attending to him in some way. This looked like the real deal. This was particularly interesting to the sheriff because Alaric Saltzman was an adult – not an impressionable teen; he was a clever and resourceful vampire hunter with access to a large amount of vervain – and not supernatural in any way.

Damon watched Tyler across the room, watching them closely like a sentinel with a pool cue in his hands. His obvious feelings for Caroline had not gone unnoticed - if he could not stop the friendship, perhaps he could use it.

Damon was becoming increasingly restless.

He had compelled Jeremy to sleep before he had left, but he had not liked leaving Elena in the state she was in, once she had learned of Jeremy's…_problem_. She had been disturbingly calm and unnaturally distant, a distinctly un-Elena-like listless torpor having engulfed her - and Damon knew instinctively that this was worse – and a harbinger of more evil – than any of her hysterics, worse than her rash and uncontrolled emotions. Damon understood this about her nature as he understood it about his own. And, likewise, he knew that she was liable to do something stupid. What precisely, Damon could not fathom. There was nothing for her to do – but, that had never stopped Elena before. Damon leaned in toward Liz with a growing and barely cloaked impatience; "So…_friends_?"

Liz waited a beat before answering;"Look, Damon –I'm… sorry about what happened to Stefan, and I…I don't want to expose you," she began, looking at a beaming Caroline, "but – why don't you just leave Mystic Falls? Why stay here? Why risk it?"

Caroline's smile faltered.

"Maybe, I like it here, Liz. It's my home – land of my birth and death and all that. And…, "Damon's voice took on a hint of menace, "if you don't want to expose me – what _exactly _would I be risking?"

Liz changed tactics, refusing to dance around this anymore; "You're a murderer, Damon," she stated flatly. She was being matter-of-fact.

Damon ignored her accusation and reached over the table; "Blondie – you gonna eat that pickle?"

Ric being more familiar with the turbulent nature of the elder Salvatore, glanced at Damon with concern at his 'friendly ally's' subtle but also very apparent mood swing, "Uh…"

Unaware of the extent of the burgeoning tension at the table, Liz thoughts continued undeterred. From what she understood from her daughter about Stefan – he wasn't generally the violent type. Watching Damon's cat-like grace and the casual unconcern with which he handled himself – Liz understood that this was a man accustomed to having the upper hand in every situation. She instinctively grasped that there was an inherent dangerous quality to his offhandedness, an underlying intensity that betrayed it for the lie that it was. She understood, finally, that this was a man capable of many things. She wondered that she had never managed to see it before. She took a deep breath and made a calculated supposition; "What happened to Zach Salvatore?"

Damon stared at her now and without missing a beat he answered, "I killed him." He bit into his confiscated pickle.

Liz remained calm, but found herself gripping her weapon tightly in the darkness under the table at having her suspicions confirmed so bluntly.

"Damon!" Caroline hissed in chastisement.

"Not helping," Alaric mumbled.

Damon maintained eye contact with Sheriff Forbes, "No? But, Liz here thinks she wants the truth – which you really don't, by the way." He looked meaningfully at Caroline.

"That was an accident." She sounded broken.

Liz looked searchingly at her daughter, but Caroline carefully avoided her mother's eyes.

"Yes," Damon agreed, "You _accidentally_ drained a man dry."

Liz looked at Damon sharply, "What's your point, Damon?"

"Just that: I have no intention of _going_ anywhere, Liz."

"And, _I _have no intention of letting a killer run loose in Mystic Falls."

Alaric tried to step in, placing a hand on Damon's shoulder which he shook off violently, "Is that a _threat_, Liz?"

The sheriff looked from Damon to her daughter and back again; "I want you out of my town." She stood, forcing Caroline up to make way for her.

"Mom…"

"By tomorrow," Liz finished. "And…don't go to Grove Hill either…I'll know," she added as an afterthought.

Ric eyed the sheriff at this seemingly random mention of Mystic Falls neighboring town, but the moment did not strike Ric as being particularly opportune to ask after her meaning.

"I'm not leaving," Damon responded coolly, his voice as deceptively calm as the surface of the sea before a storm.

"Mom – if…if they go, I go too."

Damon (as well as Alaric) spared a brief appraising look for Caroline, taking in the apparent extent of her loyalty.

Liz looked at her daughter, her tone softening; "Caroline…honey… please don't make me choose between you and the town."

Caroline's eyes hardened, and she looked like the defiant teenager that she had always been, "Oh, right – I almost forgot – the town always wins, doesn't it?"

"That isn't fair – not this time."

Damon stood, a movement quickly echoed by Ric determined to shadow his friend until this 'meeting' with Liz was over, "Not to interrupt family-time, but…" Damon started to interrupt as his cell phone rang. It was the witch. "'What is it?"

Everyone was standing now as Alaric was trying to explain to the sheriff that Damon was reformed now 'more or less.' And Caroline pouted as Tyler stepped forward laying a hand on her shoulder while looking reproachfully at Sheriff Forbes. Liz was hopelessly caught between trying to retain a professional demeanor as she was catching flack from all sides and her mother's instinct to prove to Caroline that she was the most important thing in the world to her.

Damon's voice rose above the fray, "What do you mean 'Elena's gone'?" he demanded.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: So, I hope this chapter was up to snuff. I thought that was as good a place to leave off as any. ;) **

**Also: Sorry if anyone was hoping/expecting that Tyler would have a larger role – I am still working out our furry friends' part in this whole little melodrama. **

**Also: Katherine counting heads makes me giggle.  
><strong>


	13. Legacies

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, the Vampire Diaries could totally own me if it wanted to. Especially - one naughty, but oh so nice, blue-eyed vampire. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey Guys – Thanks so much for the positive reviews for the last chapter! I'm damaged and emotionally needy – so they really fill a void. So, you should maybe keep reviewing. ;)  
><strong>

**Okay, no time for idle chit-chat today – I know you all want to know where Elena has gone to, so…**

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 13: Legacies.**

**Setting: The Gilbert House of Trust Fund Kids: The Real Legacy is Poor Decision-Making Skills.  
><strong>

Elena was done being frantic. Elena was done feeling helpless. She had had enough of that in the last weeks to last an entire lifetime. She had felt deeply the reprimand that was the aftermath of the sacrifice; had tried to internalize the lesson that it taught – that wresting control was not always the answer – that you could not always impose your will on a situation, no matter how irrevocably entwined your own fate was in the outcome, and no matter the nobility of your intentions. But, now she had had enough.

Elena had listened, with an eerie and unusual silence, as Damon and Bonnie took turns trying to explain to her what new (absurdity) tragedy had befallen her brother. She was quiet as Caroline gasped behind her; her bright eyes wide in confusion. She said nothing as Bonnie hugged her, as Damon tried to force her eyes to meet his own, as Alaric tried to convey his concern with tired eyes and a steady hand on her shoulder. They had all made assurances. Assurances which Elena had neither heard; nor had wanted to hear.

Elena was just angry now, and Elena was going rogue.

She had waited. She had waited for those who were scheduled to leave to file out of her home – throwing wasted sympathetic glances behind them. And then there was just Bonnie - her final obstacle. First, she had carefully pulled from Bonnie all the details which she did not already know; then she had feigned (more or less) overwrought mental exhaustion. And with unrelenting and increasingly tedious concern, polluted by misplaced guilt and unwanted pity, Bonnie had frog-marched Elena up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Elena asked for tea and stripped out of her skirt and heels – which she had put on for the lawyers – and pulled on a comfortable pair of jeans and more practical sneakers – which she would soon hide by crawling into bed.

Before she did that, however, she quietly stole into Jeremy's room through their shared bathroom and forced herself to watch him as he slept; taking in every unconscious twitch and restless jerk that pointed to his affliction as she memorized the disturbed contours of his face, using it to steel her heedless determination. After the eternity of only a few painful moments, Elena tore herself away and seized the chair from his desk, wedging it tightly under the outer doorknob of the door through which she had just entered, propping it up at an angle designed to make escape difficult. Then she quietly slipped out of her brothers' room and into the hall, closing the primary door behind her before returning to her own room and getting into bed to (lie in) wait for her friend.

* * *

><p>Bonnie was almost beside herself when Damon arrived alone at the Gilbert house and confronted her. Bonnie was strong, had learned to be – she had been given no choice; but the enormity of the devastation which seemed to always surround her was taking its inevitable toll. She sat huddled in a small heap on the staircase; listening for signs of distress from upstairs, but desperate also, to be out the door, to be searching for her friend – obviously finally buckling under the stress. Her eyes flew open, as the front door was nearly knocked clean off of its hinges. Damon was here. And he was furious.<p>

"Where is she?"

Bonnie recounted as much as was relevant to the vampire that she had recently made a bad habit of calling when there was trouble. She had wanted to leave immediately – to go after Elena, who already must have close to a fifteen minute head start. Only two things held her back. One; was the unstable sleeper upstairs, and the other had been Damon's unspoken promise of using his vampire speed to come to her here.

She hadn't known what to think when she realized that Elena had locked her in the bathroom. She had, with evident premeditation, asked Bonnie to look for some sleeping pills that she had been prescribed after her parent's accident, before jumping out of bed and closing her in. Bonnie had pleaded with Elena to let her out for minutes before she finally realized that Elena had long gone. She tried to steady herself, knowing that magic was her best bet on getting out quickly, and magic required focus – but, she was still adjusting to calling on none but herself – the massive and temporary influx of power from her kin and forebearers had left her reeling and empty.

None of this did she relate to Damon, however, as she stood on uncertain legs which carried her forward of their own volition, towards him, "The witch burning grounds," she said almost breathlessly, "I'm sure of it."

Damon, already unhappy and experiencing something akin to remorse and self-flagellation over his utter stupidity at having left Elena in the first place, when he should have known better – Hell, when he _had_ known better – and riled up needlessly by the (unsurprisingly) fruitless session at the Grill, very nearly lost it right then and there as he grabbed Bonnie a little too tightly by her forearms and almost shook her in his fury, "Why?"

Bonnie barely registered the high-pressure hold he had on her, which in days not too far past would have been enough to warrant Damon a really painful answering gesture, "She was grilling me about it – about Jeremy – about the warning…about the resurrection," she admitted.

Damon released Bonnie abruptly, wisely putting several feet of space between himself and the witch as he choked back the urge to trash and tear apart the living room like so much toxic bile; "What will they do to her? Would they hurt her?"

"I don't know…. Maybe not anything," - But, the knot deep inside Bonnie's stomach pulled tighter.

Disregarding the steaming bullshit that Bonnie was trying to feed him and hearing only what she clearly wasn't saying, Damon sought what release he could in giving vent to his simmering violence by baring his (human) teeth, letting out a strangled and guttural snarl, and punching a ragged hole in the nearest wall, and to much greater effect than the last time he had attempted such. Martyrs – every last one of them – all clambering… begging… to suffer and to die for each other. Bonnie, Jeremy, Stefan, Elena – hell even Caroline and Papa John – and Damon had somehow been conscripted, shanghaied, temporarily brain-washed and unanimously elected chairman, president and treasurer of their insane fucking emo death-worshipping cabal.

Bonnie's face muscles twitched once as she watched plaster dust and torn insulation debris float to the floor in a cloud around Damon's profile, lightly coating his unruly dark hair, delicate lashes, and black leather jacket in fine white particulates like he was the fuzzy, warm centerpiece of some kind of deranged snow globe that someone had just given a good shake, but she said nothing.

"Let's go," he said roughly, turning back towards Bonnie and making a grab for her.

Wary, Bonnie backed up, sidestepping Damon's reach, meeting his eyes like shards of broken and glittering, blue glass and raised up one faintly shaking hand implying plainly her power, her ability and her willingness to defend herself.

"Bonnie," Damon spoke slowly and with an unpleasant edge to his voice, striving to maintain his fragile patience; "_I_ am the fastest way to get there – so, _you_ are about to ride side saddle."

Relaxing, somewhat, into (a still fairly disturbed) understanding of the capricious vampire's intentions, Bonnie reluctantly acquiesced (vaguely grateful for the lack of 'riding' jokes, and crazy eyes) and would allow Damon to scoop her up – until she remembered her boyfriend, "What about Jeremy?" she asked, "We can't just leave him here alone."

Damon grunted, looking up the staircase to the second floor, "I'll make sure he stays asleep – you call Ric and Caroline…quickly."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Ye Olde Witch Burning Grounds: Hey – I Know, Let's build a Large Structure of Non-Specific Utility Where We Burned Those Witches That Time…Cool? Cool.<strong>

Elena didn't know what she could do against a coven of dead witches, what sort of reasoning or plea or threat she could bring to bear that would make any kind of difference to them. All she knew that she was tired of getting jerked around by supernatural forces, and she wanted answers – and she knew that this was the only place to get them. In her anger she had failed to think past that. These witches and their sanctimonious predecessors going back over a thousand years owed Elena – they _owed_ her. She had them to thank for her ominous birthright – and for all the destruction which it had rained down upon her and everyone that she knew, everyone that she loved. If they were angry at Bonnie – well…they had no right to be angry with Elena.

These were the thoughts which had sustained Elena…sustained her in her calculated and painful betrayal of her best friend; the delayed sense of entitlement which fueled her to suppress her angst at leaving Jeremy's side; and the righteous indignation which steeled her in the face of Damon's inevitable anger and disapproval.

And these were the thoughts which almost abandoned her now, as she stood hesitantly at the entrance to this long forgotten building, with its long denied and willfully suppressed history of coercion, forced submission and mass murder. Elena shivered as a chill crawled up her spine on tiny pin prick legs – like a daddy-long legs, insubstantial but there tickling you into unease all the same. She thought that maybe these lost and wronged women might not feel as though they 'owed' anything to anyone.

Well, too bad. If these poor bitches wanted balance – they could have her.

Resolving herself to make things right for her brother – whatever that took – she inhaled deeply and crossed the broken and decaying threshold.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls Bar &amp; Grill: Come For the Mystical-Mind Rape, Stay For the Impending Doom.<strong>

Alaric hung up the phone with a determined expression, his mouth a thin grim line. Damon had only just left them five minutes ago, but Bonnie had already called from the Gilbert house with the latest update. There was still a cold front forming between Caroline and her mother, but everyone had been silenced by the earlier news of Elena's disappearance.

Now, they waited for Ric to speak. "Caroline – you need to get to the Gilbert's and stay with Jeremy. Now."

Caroline grabbed her light jacket off the back of the booth wall, her eyes widening in concern as her mother's look of general worry sharpened into something more specific, and more pained; "What's wrong with Jeremy Gilbert?" she asked.

Caroline threw her a stony glare, "Where's Elena?"

Ric, while not entirely without sympathy for Sheriff Forbes – nevertheless had neither the time, nor the inclination to engage in lengthy explanations. He addressed her daughter instead, "Damon and Bonnie are going to look for her. They think they know where she is. You need to get to Jeremy…take Tyler if you want…just get there. I'm going to try to catch up with Damon."

Caroline nodded succinctly and grabbing a confused but willing Tyler promptly exited the restaurant.

"Mr. Saltzman," Liz began, "If a citizen of Mystic Falls is in danger, then I…"

Alaric cut her off as he breezed past her to the door of the Grill, "I'm sorry Sheriff – I'm afraid that this is out of your jurisdiction." He turned back briefly, however, recalling that there was something more that needed to be said, "You've made your choice – but, you gave him until tomorrow. I'm going to ask you to keep to your word – we don't need any more trouble tonight." Ric waited just long enough to see Liz, caught by surprise, incline her head forward in a jerky motion of assent.

When she looked up again, he was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile… Back at Ye Olde Witch Burning Grounds: Interior. <strong>

Elena made her way carefully around the rotting wood structure, with only her cell phone in her back pocket and the weak beam cast from her flashlight. She could feel a tightening in her chest, her stomach falling to her knees – and a rumbling discontent in the thick and moldy air around her. "Yeah," she spoke with soft defiance into the darkness, "well, I'm not happy either."

Not knowing precisely where to go, Elena tried to locate the largest room in the building – the dark and twisting heart of this hallowed yet unholy edifice. On her right, through an opening in one wall, twice the width of a normal doorway Elena caught the flicker of a lit candle on a half crumbled shelf. "Okay then…I guess this is the place," she said not knowing if she was talking to herself or to the room or to a gaggle of the unquiet dead. She crossed the interior demarcation into the larger room – as she did so a hundred or more candles sprang to harsh life all around her. Temporarily blinded as her pupils adjusted to the sudden white-hot illumination of the candles, no doubt left behind by Bonnie, Elena shielded her eyes with the hand holding the flashlight, "You can't scare me," she gritted out. "I've already lost _everything_ and now – my brother…he…you did this to him." Taking her hand away from her face, Elena studied the empty spaces, "It isn't fair."

Elena spun around at the sudden peal of disembodied laughter – some voices she could discern above the rest, they sounded like children. Had they burned children here as well? Then she heard the sound of her own voice – but, distorted and ugly, thrown back at her, "It isn't fair." It reverberated off the walls, building towards a maddening crescendo as Elena screamed, "Enough!... I get it…you weren't treated fairly either…but, what does that have to do with me?"

The laughing stopped and the air became heavy with menace.

"If you want _balance_ – then take me!"

Outside, she could hear Damon and Bonnie calling her name, inside she heard a faint hissing like a coiled and angry snake – and then everything went dark.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting<strong>: **Witch Burning Grounds: Exterior.**

The sky was only just approaching dusk, when Damon and Bonnie arrived – but, there seemed to be an unnatural and ever present darkness that shrouded this land and this house, this dissatisfied final resting place for so many, their restless spirits tied to the earth here – a place that was both consecrated and yet, knew nothing of God. Bonnie shivered on her approach, in grim communion with this place – her legacy.

Damon had sped ahead of her, immediately trying to enter the house, but was blocked by magic at the open door. It had taken a little longer than he was comfortable with to get here. He had run into a tiny hiccup compelling Jeremy into sleep – those witches were really screwing with that poor kids' head. Damon, also, had been afraid that there was too much vervain in his system – but, eventually it seemed to work – apparently Jer wasn't a big fan of tea. Now, through the doorway, Damon could make out light pouring out of one room and into another, "Elena!" he called out. He cocked his head to make out any kind of response however slight, and listened as Elena offered herself in Jeremy's place, "Elena!" he bellowed louder this time, in a helpless rage. He gave the door frame a swift and vicious, but ultimately useless kick, and turned to take a long stride towards Bonnie who was running now - at a human pace from the ground where Damon had deposited her, "They won't let me in – those dead _bitches_ have her and they won't let me in."

Bonnie looked at Damon, "They're angry."

Damon's eye's darkened, the sensitive white skin under and around threatening from just beneath the surface to blossom into a cascade of spidery black rivulets, "They don't even know what angry is."

"Stay here," Bonnie ordered, "I'll get her."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: A Back Road Through A Wooded Area.<strong>

Liz was driving blind, of necessity, her headlights off as she followed Ric through the outskirts of town, in forest so dense that the last feeble rays of the setting sun could not break through. If Saltzman knew that she was tailing him, or if he cared – he gave no indication. He was speeding, to be sure, but there were no fake-outs, no sudden turns, no unexpected stoppages and no slowing down. Liz knew every square inch of this town – and she couldn't imagine what Elena Gilbert, or any of them would need, want or expect to find out here. But, this man was sure in a hurry to get there. She had tried to question Matt Donovan before she left the Grill – but, he had denied having any knowledge of what might be going on. He might have been more forthcoming if he knew that they seemed to believe that Elena was in danger, but if he wasn't involved then Liz wouldn't press the issue. She pulled over quietly to the side of the road when she saw Alaric turn off the road and into an unfamiliar clearing.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Back Yet Again at Ye Olde "Home For Immolated Witches"<strong>

Damon was pacing in extreme agitation, his eyes dark and shadowed with his suppressed nature and his already forming reflections on vengeance – and powerless to enter the domain of the witches. He could hear two heartbeats inside; one rapid with adrenaline, the other slow – too slow. Bonnie was inside the house – trying to reason with these smug and self-righteous harpies…Damon had never felt more in sympathy with the Founders – even if they weren't the Founders that he knew or had known – for roasting these bitches. In fact, if he thought it would help – and possibly, even if he knew it wouldn't – he would grab some benzene, dirty rags and some marshmellows and light this mother up himself.

"Damon!" Damon's thoughts were interrupted by Ric called as he made his way through the brush and into the open space surrounding the house, "What's going on?"

Damon looked at the house, "The witch went inside to find Elena – I can't…" Damon's head jerked suddenly, his eyes feral. He could no longer hear Bonnie. She wasn't talking and she wasn't chanting. Damon sped to the doorway, "Bonnie!"

Alaric was almost caught up to Damon at the threshold, and both were calling out the names of the missing girls. Ric took another step, his eyes never leaving the door, when a flash a something dark flew through the air, a figure easily discernable against the backdrop of a hundred burning candles, "What was that?" he called out.

The building was silent, and the candles went dim.

Damon stood against the invisible barrier, attempting to get a hand in every few moments, repeatedly testing the witch's commitment to keeping him out, "Ric, get over here. Now."

Then a new light illuminated from within. It's effect was subtle at first, a lone candle, perhaps two that had survived the extinction event that had snuffed out the others – until the flames start to lick up the far wall of the larger room, where judging by their heartbeats – Elena lay on one side, Bonnie the other. Momentarily confused, Damon half-wondered if he had somehow caused this, or if they had read his mind.

Ric's eyes widened and his jaw went a little slack as he closed the final stretch of distance between himself and Damon – the evidence of the fire already spreading. Ever so briefly he supposed that a fire lit by dead, cremated witches would count as 'supernatural' causes – though still likely to be as painful as all hell – before registering that it was a moot point. He didn't have the ring. Not that that would make any difference now.

The flames spread quickly through the structure – the wood as dried up and dead as the witches it imprisoned. Damon tried one more time to pass his hand through the potent anti-vampire mojo holding him back – but, this time he got through. He threw Ric a determined look, "You get the witch – I'll find Elena," before Alaric nodded silently, and each man pulled a jacket over their head for whatever small protection that would bring, and loped – keeping their heads low – into the firestorm, as a stunned Sheriff Forbes watched from the periphery.

* * *

><p>Recalling the general direction in which Bonnie had been thrown, Ric managed to find her fairly quickly despite the gathering black smoke. He hefted her inert body over his shoulder as a firefighter would, and stumbled gropingly back out the way he had come. Liz met him there, her head bowed to one side and the fingers of her right hand grasping her walkie-talkie – calling in a forest fire. Ric ignored her as he gently unfolded Bonnie onto the prickly and uneven grass, checking her vitals and her breathing. He was relatively sure that she would wake up eventually – though probably with a killer headache.<p>

After she had reported the fire, Liz watched Alaric care for the unconscious girl, "Is she okay?"

Ric looked up, "I'm not a doctor…and she took a pretty good hit…but, I think so, yeah."

Liz crouched down for a better look carefully feeling out Bonnie's limbs for breaks, "I have some basic medical training – let me check her out."

Ric stood and gave the sheriff some room, then he looked around at the otherwise empty clearing, his jacket discarded, his shirt sticking to his skin from the heat coming off the fire; "Where's Damon?" He spoke with ever increasing volume to be heard above the crackling and hissing.

Liz looked back at him; "What?"

"Where's Damon and Elena?" he shouted. No way in hell that Ric was faster than the vampire.

Liz bolted up, horrified, suddenly remembering that _two_ men had willingly entered the burning building; "He never came out," she yelled, "Elena Gilbert is in _there_ too?"

Ric raced back to the house in time to see Damon just beyond the doorway carrying a motionless Elena bridal-style in his arms. If Ric had not been simply human, he might have heard Damon's bitter and deranged cries.

His feet were rooted to the floor, the flames nipping at his heels. His only thoughts besides wreaking terrible, terrible vengeance were for Elena's safety. But, not surprisingly, the witches were opting not to cooperate with his plans for either. "Finally," Damon choked out – the heavy smoke couldn't kill him, but it could sear his throat and lungs painfully.

"Damon – what is it? Get out of there!"

"I'm stuck," Damon managed a grim sneer, "It seems the ladies of the house are having a roast, and I've been invited to stay to dinner," he spoke as he maneuvered Elena around in his arms, trying to decide the best way to toss her. "You have to catch her."

Alaric nodded tersely, and attempted to brace himself as Damon hurled Elena over the threshold, into the early evening air and Ric's waiting arms. Ric grunted; some of the wind having been knocked out of him and ran with Elena to the area where he had left Bonnie – well beyond the reach of the fire. He considered trying to wake Bonnie, to see if she could help Damon, or hold back the fire…something, as Liz carefully repeated on Elena the exam she just performed on her friend; "Where's Damon?" she demanded.

Ric opened his mouth to shout an answer, when a particularly loud and devastating crackle fractured the night. Turning back towards the witch-house – all Ric and Liz could see were flames.

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><p><strong>AN 2: I hope that last section wasn't too rushed (the writing, I mean – not the events). **

**A/N 3:** 'Home For Immolated Witches' - as those in the Know, know - is another shout-out to great Thomas Galvin.**  
><strong>

**A/N 4: Broken Memories – I don't know that you have called me awesome lately…but, it is always good to hear, so thanks. ;) Although – I am rather sorry that Liz irks – because I am afraid that she isn't out of this yet…And, Katherine is coming soon – *probably* in the next chapter (and she's planning an Elijah-napping), so try to hang in there.**


	14. Momentum Deferred

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – I dream that I DO!**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: Hi Guys – Sorry about that rough cliffhanger I left you with (well…sort of ;) – I hope I can make up for it with the fact that I found time to write the next chapter even though I was supposed to have been celebrating my country's birthday – just so I could get it to you by Tuesday! And of course, thank you for the lovely reviews; most particularly to those I could not PM: Broken Memories and Kathy. And Damon appreciates the concern expressed on his behalf…or rather, he *would* if he weren't so Damon-y.**

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><p><strong>Previously, On The (Totally Fake) Vampire Diaries…<strong>

_Resolving herself to make things right for her brother – whatever that took – she inhaled deeply and crossed the broken and decaying threshold._

oooooooOOOOooooooo

_Ric opened his mouth to shout an answer, when a particularly loud and devastating crackle fractured the night. Turning back towards the witch-house – all Ric and Liz could see were flames._

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 14: Momentum Deferred.**

**Setting: The Witch Burning Grounds: Why Don't You Just Go DIAF.**

Damon entered the house just behind Ric; giving the human a solid nudge in the right direction.

The nebulous haze of smoke burning his eyes, Damon relied on his vampire hearing, keeping it carefully focused on the steady, if slow beating of Elena's heart; her soft and shallow breathing. If he managed to get Elena out of this alive he would kill her. At the very least he was gonna outfit her with a lo-jack or one of those pet collars where you could just zap the drooling little flea bags if they wandered too far. Elena might not like it, but Damon thought that she would look good in a choke-collar.

He tried to ignore the oppressive heat and the unnervingly loud hissing and popping of the fire commingling with the groaning reluctance of a building that had withstood much, finally being asked to give in to itself and to the endless cycle of creation and destruction. Damon could sympathize. If these idiots hadn't just _had_ to save him, then he would already be the good-looking corpse he had always been meant to be (as opposed to the sexy corpse he currently was), or a blissfully unaware pile of bones and Damon-dust.

Blessed fucking oblivion.

No, Damon couldn't be allowed to _actually_ die – because then the game of musical martyrdom just wouldn't be as much fun; Stefan would be minus one more person to brood and glower at, one less justification for his meaningless existence (and hitching his little red wagon of meaning to Damon, of all people, was a losing proposition – for all involved); and Elena…might actually have to come to terms with the fact that Stefan was no match for her, that sometimes 'good' just wasn't going to get the job done. Stefan might _deserve_ her – but, he could never hold onto her. They just weren't endgame.

Finally, gathering up a still unmoving and miraculously unscathed Elena is his arms, Damon turned to get them both the hell out of there. He had managed three impressive strides toward safety before he almost doubled over onto himself from the sheer surprise and force with which the velocity of his forward motion was interrupted, his feet stuck fast to the rotting floorboards; Elena almost tumbling out of his arms. That's when the real fun started.

"Okay Emily," he roared above the licking flames, scowling in pain as a hot ember from a burning ceiling beam singed the white skin of his cheek, "You've had your fun…You can stop _any_ time now." Unsure as to whether or not he really expected a response, Damon took on her magic the only way he knew how - falling back on physical strength and the raw power of his own will. Like an animal caught in a bear trap, he would have gnawed his own legs off if he could have – as much to piss off Emily and ruin her game, as to save himself and Elena. He tried to force his legs free, wrenching and straining until the muscles of his calves and thighs trembled from the exertion.

Damon whipped his head around, wildly searching out a focal point – a precise spot to direct his rage and resentment; "This is stupid, Emily…We were friends once…I _helped_ you!" He paused, choking on the noxious atmosphere, "Don't _do_ this!"… you holier-than-thou smug bitch.

He tried to call out to Ric – but either the howling fire or Emily's magic was interfering with Damon's hearing – he had no idea where his friend was, whether he and the witch had made it out. All he could hear was Elena' increasingly labored breathing and the furious pounding of his own undead heart. Giving his right leg another vicious wrench – it moved. Not much, but it moved. Damon didn't know if his demanding invocation of their shared history had actually found its target and persuaded Emily to be sporting, or if she had just decided that allowing him to hope and watching him try to escape promised more entertainment than simply watching him die.

At the moment he couldn't afford to care.

Soon, Damon found that with great effort he could slowly lurch forward – though, it was an open question as to whether he would be able to outpace the fire at this rate. Emily was making him work for it.

He fought back the urge to heave and convulse in desperate and hollow laughter as he conceived a pretty picture of himself; drenched in sweat, his upper body jerking in pain periodically where the burning ash and bits of wreckage touched down, singeing his unprotected flesh even as it was healing from the last impact and performing a series of short and staggering movements, dancing a strange and absurd shuffle towards life and freedom.

Gasping for breath, Damon advanced doggedly until he finally sensed the smoke thinning out; clean air rushing in from the still open door, its oxygen racing in to fill the growing vacuum within, feeding the fire. Resisting the natural impulse to drink too deeply of the oxygenated but still toxic scorching air, Damon was assaulted by the faint reek of singed flesh and he knew that Emily was close. His awkward dance came to an abrupt end. What the fuck _now_? "What now, Emily? Did you want me to crawl out of here like a dog?"

Damon received no answer, but cursed the dead witch's progenitors going back to the primordial ooze as he continued to struggle like any animal in a fight for its life, Elena still limp in his arms. If Damon got out of here – he swore to every god in every pantheon he could remember from his classical education that was going to find a way to bring Emily back – just so he could eat her.

Amid the maelstrom both within Damon and surrounding him; he saw Ric appear at the door, his eyes squinting from the acridness of the atmosphere, his body crouched down low, one arm draped protectively across his mouth and nose the other bracing himself on the as yet undamaged outer edge of the entryway.

"Finally."

"Damon – what is it? Get out of there!"

Gee, Ric – that's a _great_ idea. "I'm stuck," Damon sneered contemptuously, "It seems the ladies of the house are having a roast, and I've been invited to stay to dinner." His funereal quip was given absently, his mind already on Elena; if he couldn't get her out then Ric would have to, "You'll have to catch her."

Alaric nodded brusquely as Damon drew on his dwindling reserves and tossed Elena with more determination than care. He watched with relief as Ric caught her and hurried her to a safe distance – before what sounded almost like thunder tore through the night. The last thing that Damon saw was a human shape forming out of the swirling smoke, its newly discernible large colorless eyes on him; the suggestion of a smile tugging at a cruel and knowing mouth. The figure spared a brief ponderous glare for the world outside its tomb and for Bonnie, before turning faintly questioning eyes back to her captive audience.

"Emily," Damon voice was a thick croak but his dried and cracking lips curled into a dark smile of his own, unwilling even in the face of his own impending unshackling from this (im)mortal coil, to give Emily the satisfaction of anything less.

Then the walls of the fire closed in on him.

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><p><strong>Setting: The Gilbert House of Caroline's Adventures in Babysitting: Nobody Gets Out of this Place Without Singing the Blues. *<strong>

Caroline hadn't had time to eat anything (besides people-food) since that early morning blood bag Damon had given her at least thirty-six hours ago and she was hungry. Add to that her current inability to be of any use in the search for Elena, (not to mention the search for Stefan) and the icy state of relations between Damon and her mother…and, by extension between herself and her mother…and you had one neurotic vampire, overflowing with nervous energy that all of Tyler's soothing couldn't _quite_ placate. Caroline didn't _do_ clueless and hapless anymore. It wouldn't be so bad if she could actually _help_.

She had just peeked in on a still sleeping Jeremy and had made it half-way down the stairs when Tyler walked in from the kitchen to meet her at the base of the steps. Resting a hand on the banister post, he looked up at her with that new look of his that had been more and more on display since the terrible night of his first transformation – a look of understated confidence without hostility, of admiration without expectation, of loyalty without trepidation. It was a good look for him, she decided and Caroline let the events of the day (and the weeks _and _the months) fall away for a moment as her head tilted slightly and she took in this new and improved Tyler Lockwood. She offered him a small but telling smile, and continued her descent.

"How is he?"

Caroline sighed, "He's still sleeping…but, who knows…you know? It's those witches…" she trailed off dismally.

Tyler could not in his wildest dreams have conceived of how much more there was to this world, or even to Mystic Falls … _and to this girl_… before about a month and a half ago. And there was still a lot he didn't understand, but there was less and less he didn't believe in. Tyler Lockwood's baptism by fire into the world of the supernatural had not only torn his muscles and bones apart, rearranging them to play by a new set of ancient rules – it had violently ripped open his mind and strangely his heart. There was no going back, but looking at Caroline and feeling the sense of well-being that she brought to him – he knew that he could never want to. But… this thing with Jeremy…even after all the things that Tyler had experienced and heard about – this was wild.

"I can't believe he can see Vicki…" He shook his head in wonder.

Caroline frowned, "I forgot…you and her were friends. You must miss her."

He did. Kind of. But, mostly Tyler just wished that he could apologize to her. She had been a bright spot in the nightmare that his life had been (ironically) _before_ he had become a werewolf and he had treated her badly, "Yeah."

Caroline's sympathetic blue eyes narrowed as she cocked her head suddenly, "Do you hear that?"

Tyler tensed, straining the limits of his supernatural senses. He looked at Caroline, "Do you _smell_ that?"

"Is that smoke?"

Nodding, Tyler broke into a run up the stairs with Caroline right behind him, as Jeremy's unconscious groans of pain filled the house. Caroline broke away speeding past Tyler to throw open the door to Jeremy's room; "Oh my God – Jeremy!" Caroline was horrified – Jeremy's bed was on fire with him still in it.

Tyler skidded to a stop at the door to Jeremy's room, his eyes round with disbelief – Jeremy was still _sleeping_ as the fire burned a trail up one thrashing jean clad leg, "What the f…" Apparently, spontaneous human combustion could now be added to the list of things that Tyler now believed in.

"Tyler," Caroline sounded authoritative but with a nervous edge, "Help me put it out."

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><p><strong>Setting: Ye Olde Witch Burning Grounds: Can Somebody Drop a House on a Bitch, Already?<strong>

Elena choked very suddenly back to life; bolting upright unaided even by the use of her own arms to prop or to pull, her eyes tearing open eerily, the whites large and the pupils dilated, without any tentative fluttering, "Damon!" she cried into the night as her head whipped around the clearing, searching, disoriented.

Maneuvering her legs quickly behind her and thrusting both hands forward Elena clawed into the earth, as she rose to her knees. Gasping for air that was suddenly readily available and unsteady, she swayed, pitching forward with her damp hair falling around her face in asymmetrical brown waves.

"Elena," the sheriff's voice reached Elena's ears, tinny and distant. Elena didn't look up.

"Whoa, whoa! ...slowly…" Ric cautioned, immediately returning to Elena's side, "Breathe," he coached softly into her ear, one hand warm and reassuring on her arched back, "Breathe." Alaric couldn't tell if she was choking or hyperventilating – but, he needed her to be as calm as possible – before she realized that Damon had never come back out.

"Damon," she spluttered between her racking, but slowly abating coughs, "Where's Damon?" She had regained a kind of consciousness while still inside the burning house, she had been aware of a floating sensation, of Damon carrying her – rescuing her – but, it was as though a strong hand had held her prone, had forced her eyes closed; her mouth unable to speak…

Ric hesitated, "Elena…"

Liz pulled her eyes reluctantly away from the blaze. Whatever Damon Salvatore had been – Liz had known him; had, for a time, considered him a friend – he and his brother had saved Caroline from Logan Fell – and whatever Damon had been in 'life' he had just died a good death. She brushed a weary hand over her sweaty brow, more affected than she would have imagined, and called upon her law enforcement training before turning to face Elena.

Heaving and still on all fours, Elena turned her wide, saucer-like eyes to Alaric, "Ric – _tell_ me."

The sheriff's voice rang out as she approached; "Elena…I'm so sorry…there's been an accident…"

Suddenly cognizant of the fire, Elena's head shot up and she struggled to right herself, "no…" Unconsciously, wiping the dirt from her hands on her jeans, she stood, ("no, no, no…") she made a break for the witch house, pushing herself to meet the flames, "Damon!" She had made things worse. Thinking only of helping her brother – she had actually made things _worse_…

"Oh, no you don't…" Suddenly, Ric was in her path, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, "Enough, Elena…he was my friend too, but you can't…."

"I have to…I have to," She struggled and thrashed violently against Alaric's hold, "Let me go, Ric!" she wrenched out, her voice a high-pitch growl

"Elena, you can't help Damon now. You can't go in there; I'm sorry – you need to think about your brother…he needs you," Liz called out from behind, a naked plea obvious beneath her voice, trained to soothe.

Elena stilled, and Ric loosened his vice-like grip allowing her to spin in place to lock accusing and belligerent eyes with the source of reason; "My brother?" she seethed, "_I_ should think about my brother?" Elena was incensed, strangling back wild peals of bitter laughter, "I should think about my brother? ...How _dare_ you." Elena advanced steadily on a startled, but suddenly stricken looking Sheriff Forbes, "_All_ I _have_ been doing is thinking of Jeremy; and now….and now…. This is _your _fault."

Ric ran to intercept, Elena looking for all the world like she was going to physically attack the sheriff who was backing up and assuming an instinctive defensive posture.

Without meaning to Bonnie interrupted the confrontation, groaning loudly as her body convulsed with obvious distress from the bed of dead grass where Ric had carefully laid her out, recalling everyone suddenly to her continued existence.

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><p><strong>Setting: Ye Olde Witch Burning Grounds: Through the Looking-Glass.<strong>

Damon tried to move, but found that he could not. The exposed skin of his neck and wrists chaffed and sizzled where (vervain treated) ropes held him flush against a large wooden pole, staked securely into the earth beneath him. There was no smoke in this place, no fire. Disoriented, and without the ability to turn his head, Damon's eyes searched for clues as to his location. Across the barren ground, he could see the building in which he had so lately been held captive and burning to death – but, it looked not new, but maintained, a fairly fresh coat of whitewash clinging to its unadorned and ill-omened walls. And Damon immediately understood why. He could still smell the residual stench of smoke, death and burnt humanity that permeated this place, this time?

But, none of that explained why he (_still_) wasn't dead.

He tensed as he felt a figure approach him slowly, just outside the field of his limited vision. He may not be able to _see_ who it was, but he knew, "Emily," he greeted with an exaggerated politeness echoed by his expressive eyes, "I would greet you properly, but I'm afraid that I am all tied up at the moment."

"They used vervain on our ropes," Emily began in a low voice, deepened by remembrance. She nodded slightly in recognition and acknowledgment both of Damon and of the familiar image that he presented, "It did not affect us, but they believed us demons, no better than the vampires and subject to the same frailties…"

"Imagine that," Damon snorted, "How insulting that must have been for you."

Emily smiled, a haunted and empty gesture, as she felt the roughness of the beam to which Damon was lashed. "You believe yourself superior?"

"When I give my word – I keep it." Damon watched as Emily came around to face him, her familiar bun in place, her luminous beauty unobscured by the plainness of her 19th Century clothing; a simply lined grey dress, a worn and fading shawl wrapped tightly around her small frame, pinned together by a broach of the most basic design, unexceptional but for the deep rich purple stone that made up its center.

"I could not allow the tomb to be opened," she stated unruffled, considering it beneath her to become defensive. she had already apologized once, more than that she could not do.

Damon rolled his eyes, "You know – you could have just _told_ me that she wasn't in there."

"Perhaps," her eye lids closing softly in mild and unconcerned concession, "But that is not why we have brought you to this place."

"'We'? I only _see_ you."

She gazed up at him, her features smooth and untroubled, her expression neutral, if shrewdly observant and slightly contemptuous, "I am merely the designated representative for my kind…the messenger, if you will."

"You do _not_ want to hear my philosophy on dealing with the messenger," Damon scoffed his eyes flaring and his arms pulling in futility at his bonds, "_trust_ me."

Emily raised an arm lazily, tightening the ropes holding Damon, until he grunted in response to the increased pressure. "There is much that I might wish not to know about you, Vampire, and the workings of your poisoned mind…however, that luxury is not mine."

"_My_ poisoned mind?" Damon gritted out through clamped teeth, "Tell me, Emily – have you always been this self-important, insane and vindictive or is it the just the result of a hundred and fifty years of a cursed non-existence?"

Emily's eyes slanted up at Damon, a flicker of almost reluctant comprehension of his implication visible in her gaze, and with it a disgusted understanding of the parallels which he had, perhaps unintentionally, drawn between them. It was the first indication that he could poke through her poised exterior and Damon grinned with satisfaction, in spite of the pain.

"Enough," she cautioned him, her voice taking on a slightly darker tone, "It is balance which we seek," she paused for (Damon was convinced) dramatic effect, "And, we are prepared to take your life in exchange for the _Gilbert_ child's resurrection." She spoke the surname with mild derision, perhaps thinking of the ancestor who had done nothing to prevent her terrible fate.

Damon had less than no sympathy. It had been her choice to go willingly. Another fucking martyr. It wasn't the kid's fault that her own stupid decision had left her completely deranged. Hell, for Katherine's life, _Damon_ would have spirited her out of Mystic Falls on his goddamned back as far as she wanted to go, "Then why _don't_ you?" Damon's voice was a challenge. These fucking witches could never just _do_ anything – they had to bluster like cartoon villians and engage in endless, tedious victorious preamble.

Emily cocked her head slightly, examining Damon's face closely; "Bonnie fights us on your behalf."

Damon's face contorted in surprise; "Like you would care," he spat, unconvinced. Besides, Bonnie alone would never have the power to set herself against a murder of dead mystics.

"There is one other," she conceded unperturbed, having regained her equanimity, "One whose life we want _more_…"

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><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile…Back in the Present.<strong>

"Oh my God, Bonnie!" Alaric sprinted to the unconscious girl, "Sheriff Forbes, help me! Grab her arms, hold her still."

Liz raced to steady Bonnie's upper body, as Ric held her legs down trying to minimize the damaged she could do to herself seizing. Elena was forced out of her rage to stabilize her friend's flailing head, her eyes fluttering, her heart pounding and her nose bleeding. "We have to get her to a hospital," Liz bit out.

Suddenly, a smoldering object erupted from the house behind Alaric, trailing streaks of fire across the night sky. Looking up, Elena's eyes widened in fragile hope and contrite devastation, "Damon!" Bonnie's body began to cease its terrible rocking, and Elena allowed her head to fall gently from between her hands as she ran to Damon's side, not sure if he was dead or alive.

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><p><strong>*AN 2: Hey – sorry if not all of you guys (or possibly any of you) get that setting tag – it's an allusion to a silly 80's movie that I remember from my younger days that it amused me to reference. ;)**

**A/N 3: Um, so I know that I said Katherine might make an appearance in this chapter, but apparently I got kind of caught up in the Emily shenanigans. She *will* be making another appearance soon – she's integral to the plot so she kind of has to. **

**Finally, this was a bit of a rush-job, and I reserve the right to go back and edit!  
><strong>


	15. A Brief Interlude

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – I dream that I DO!**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: Hi Guys – Sorry this chapter was delayed. Truth is I was feeling a little down and had no more of Broken Memories virtual case of Jose Cuervo to comfort me. **

**ANYway – Here I am, and here is Chapter 15. Thank You again to all my reviewers and Thank You Very Much to whomever it was that nominated this story for 'Best Drama' in the 2011 Awards Forum! I can honestly tell you that I was *completely* floored by that. Lol.**

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><p><strong>Previously, On The (Still Totally Fake) Vampire Diaries…<strong>

_Suddenly, a smoldering object erupted from the house behind Alaric, trailing streaks of fire across the night sky. Looking up, Elena's eyes widened in fragile hope and contrite devastation, "Damon!" Bonnie's body began to cease its terrible rocking, and Elena allowed her head to fall gently from between her hands as she ran to Damon's side, not sure if he was dead or alive. _

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 15: A Brief Interlude.**

**Setting: The Witch-Burning Grounds: Yes, Yes We Are Almost Done With This Place…For Now.**

Elena scrambled to her feet, in her haste just managing to gently release Bonnie's head as she ran to the burnt and broken body of Damon, splayed on his stomach on the dead grass and motionless where he had fallen - one arm pulled in close to his torso the other sprawled at an odd angle away from his body. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were charred in places and torn in others. "Damon!" she said his name again as she skidded to a stop next to his ruined form and almost collapsed on to her knees onto the ground by his side. Immediately and clumsily she began to wipe the soot from his face with a corner of her tee-shirt.

Over by Bonnie, Alaric shot to his feet his face lit with uncertainty; "Is he alive?"

"He's not moving, Ric," Elena's voice hitched as she called over her shoulder to Alaric, her emotions seeking their release despite her best efforts to reign them in. "Help me turn him over."

Alaric looked back at Bonnie briefly before deciding that she was in the best hands available, medically speaking, for the moment, and sprinted over to where Damon lay to comply with Elena's wishes.

Liz remained with Bonnie, one slender hand holding on to the pulse point of Bonnie's limp wrist – but, she too was looking at Damon, at her erstwhile friend and ally, and wondering; "How could he…" Her voice was low and her eyes were wide, and Ric and Elena didn't even hear her speak let alone notice when she trailed off into a stunned silence.

Elena watched Damon's face intently as Ric gingerly pushed him over and onto his back, trying to avoid aggravating any injuries. Elena hung back as long as she could bear it, but the moment Ric began to pull away, she knelt beside Damon again, gathered his head into her lap and tried not to cry as she waited for any sign of life.

Damon's unconscious mind traveled back to the last time he was laid out, injured and helpless spread out on the cold, dead ground; when he had been wounded in the surprise Union attack at the Battle of Brandy Station – Twenty thousand starving men trying to kill each other in the largest cavalry battle of the war.

Unsure what to do, Elena continued to cradle Damon's head, again using her already filthy tee-shirt to peel away the ashes and grime around his eyes. "Wake up, Damon," she spoke softly over and over again in an almost indecipherable chant, horrified anew when her efforts to uncover his face revealed deep and raw scorch marks.

Also eager to see his friend rejoin the world of the living – as it were – Ric watched from a respectable distance, feeling suddenly as though Elena, in her grief, had laid a claim to Damon. Mutely, Liz turned her eyes from Damon and Elena to Alaric and back again, trying to understand exactly what kind of drama she was watching unfold.

Elena almost missed it when a few fingers on his right hand twitched to life. Excited, Elena awkwardly reached forward to grasp the hand that had moved, her matted hair brushing against his face as she leaned over him. He groaned piteously. "Damon – it's Elena, I'm here," she cooed, "You're going to be fine." She gave his hand a squeeze, and Damon almost yelped in pain.

"Oh…I'm sorry, Damon," Elena winced and shouted to Ric, "He needs blood."

"And, we need to get Bonnie out of here," added the sheriff.

The strength and clarity of first Elena's and then Liz's voice rang out throughout the clearing, jarring everyone who was awake enough to hear it. Ric began to nod, as a jolt of confusion ran through him as he suddenly realized that it was quiet. Very quiet, in fact. Looking away from the carnage that was Damon at the moment he spoke in a subdued tone which betrayed very little of the surprise evident in the slight widening of his eyes; "Um, Sheriff…I think you should call the FDMF back…"

"What? Why?" Liz turned her eyes to Ric Saltzman and to the building beyond, "What the…?" Liz Forbes just couldn't seem to complete a sentence anymore.

"…the fire is out." And how, Alaric marveled. It wasn't really so much that it was 'out' so much as it appeared to never even have happened. He rubbed absently at the back of his neck, feeling the moistness of his skin, the sweat from the heat and he stared.

Liz released Bonnie's wrist and stood, fumbling unseeingly for the radio at her hip, unable to wrest her eyes from the reconstituted structure, but not much liking the possible repercussions of the town sheriff pranking the fire department. Especially the way Carol Lockwood had been breathing down her neck lately.

Elena seemed completely unaware of the taut hush that had fallen over her friends and the forest clearing, her body failing to register the sudden lack of heat. At the moment, she was only concerned for Damon. Whom she had almost gotten killed…again.

He moved again, his fingers weakly tightening around her hand and she smiled in encouragement as he tried to speak, "Cho…" He paused, the searing pain in his throat swallowing his words, and tried again, "choke…"

Concern overtook her dark olive-skinned features once more, as she raised her voice again, "Ric! Help me!" Elena looked down at Damon with compassion and guilt, and gently lowered her face to meet his mindful now of the burns which weren't healing with the reassuring alacrity which she had come to expect, "What is it Damon? Are you having trouble breathing? Ric's coming…we'll get you to the Boarding House, and you'll be…."

"Choke-collar," Damon finally managed painfully, "No more…wandering…off…," his eyes opening suddenly – his electric blue irises and bright whites all the more shocking against the darkness of his charcoal coated skin, squeezing her hand in his with the last of his fading strength for emphasis, "No. More. Decisions," he spluttered as he let his eyes fall closed again, "Zap."

Several emotions rippled through Elena simultaneously, as Ric appeared next to her biting back a thin smile of amusement, "I think he's gonna be just fine, Elena."

Had she just hear him right? _A_ _Choke-collar? Zap? What the hell did _that_ mean?_ As she slowly took in Damon's meaning, she expected to have to stifle a retort, but found her lips instead relaxing into an easy smile. Damon was Damon still – and she supposed that she very much deserved that, "Never mind that now," she said pressing a chaste kiss to his ashen and ashy cheek, "We're going to get you home."

Elena stood as Ric knelt trying to figure out the best way to cart 170 pounds of dead-weight to the car. "Come on, buddy," Ric grunted as he threw one of Damon's arms across his shoulders "… let's get you some blood and a whiskey," Or Damon could just have the blood and Ric would have the whiskey. Either way. It was a good thing Damon wasn't heavy when he was turned. Alaric wondered absentmindedly why it was that you never saw fat vampires.

As Elena came up to Damon's other side to help prop him up – she saw Bonnie. Instantly, her innate emotional triage response system triggered and she asked Ric if he would be okay by himself. "Yeah, we're cool, right Damon?"

Damon tried to lift his head, but his neck would not oblige him. "Just…peachy," his words were muffled as he spoke into his chest.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: A Clearing Off the MF Highway: _Insert Your Own Clever Setting Tag Here_<strong>

Everyone had a car waiting for them except for Damon and Bonnie - which was convenient as neither was in any condition to be driving. Sheriff Forbes had wanted both Elena and Bonnie to be taken straight to Mystic Falls General to get checked out, but Elena refused to leave Damon and Bonnie just wanted to go home and sleep.

Bonnie sat quietly in the front seat of the Sheriff's squad car her legs hanging out of the open door, a police department issued blanket wrapped around her shaky frame, drying blood caking her face, Elena crouched before her, "Bonnie – how do you feel…are you okay…do you need to go to the hospital?"

Bonnie answered a question that no one had asked, "I don't remember anything."

"She's in shock." Liz knew the signs – Bonnie was shaky and weak, her blood pressure had never recovered, her skin was clammy.

Ric peered at Bonnie closely and agreed that the hospital might be a good idea.

"My father," Bonnie tried to object, "He won't understand, he won't…"

Liz nodded in unhappy understanding, "He's in town? ...Okay, it's okay. I know a doctor at the hospital…he handles our more delicate medical situations…he can be trusted to be discrete." Not that the sheriff approved of Bonnie Bennett running around putting her life in danger and her father being completely in the dark about it – but, it seemed like that was all the rage these days. Liz had almost lost Caroline in some crazy ancient blood ritual which she had known nothing about.

"Bonnie – I am soo sorry that I did this…I didn't mean to put you in danger – or Damon," – Elena glanced briefly at the vampire resting in the backseat of her car, "I was only thinking about Jer…I didn't think that this would happen…"

Bonnie smiled weakly at her friend trying to reassure her – although the dark red and crusting blood around her mouth negated the desired effects, "I would have done the same thing." In fact, she had been going to do the same thing. She couldn't really say if it would have ended any differently.

"I'll meet you at the hospital," Elena went on, "Ric and the sheriff will…"

Liz' phone rang. It was Carol Lockwood, and the new mayor was not happy. She motioned for the group to be quiet as she took the call; "Mayor?" She queried cautiously.

After the meeting at the Grill, Liz was supposed to have checked out the disappearance of a dock-worker at the Port – one James Michael Foster – who had not reported for any of his shifts for several days. His supervisor had finally called in his disappearance. There had been no signs of struggle at the man's apartment. Carol thought that the disappearance might be vampire-related. Obviously, Sheriff Forbes had been side-tracked by everything else.

Everyone listened as Liz interrupted the tirade; "Carol – his supervisor isn't on until tonight," she paused. "No, I _have_ been dealing with the situation…I…I got a call about a fire in a derelict building out in the woods – I thought they might be covering their tracks. I'm here checking it out with Damon Salvatore," she looked fleetingly at Damon, still burnt and curled up in Elena Gilbert's car and cringed a little at her own words. She took a deep breath and went on, "No…no…it was a false alarm…yes, I know…yes…no, that won't be necessary…Carol…Carol…you're breaking up…"

"Trouble in Paradise?" Damon drawled out lazily from his repose.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Salvatore Boarding House: The Beauty and The Invalid.<strong>

Elena was not as strong as Alaric, and could not conceive of getting a seriously weakened Damon up the boarding house stairs on her own. But, Ric had driven with Bonnie to Mystic Falls General to get checked out by the 'discrete' doctor. Elena wondered if once it had been _her_ father that they would have run to with their 'delicate' concerns. Instead of his room, she settled on the sofa in the parlour as the most practical place for Damon's second convalescence.

She had just left him drinking his second blood bag, grumbling about the soot stains he was going to leave all over the furniture. Elena smiled to herself as she ran water over a towel in the kitchen, wondering at Damon's fastidiousness. He was a total neat-freak.

"E-_len_-a," he called out from the living room. "I'll be right there, Damon!" she called back, still smiling. "…Can you bring me another bag of blood?" She wrung the excess water over the sink, "Do you want it warmed up?"

"Yes, please." He was most definitely milking this for everything it was worth. She could just imagine the smirk on his face. Elena shook her head lightly, "Okay…give me a minute."

"Thank you, Elena." He had certainly been an easier charge the last time he had almost died. The thought almost brought Elena up short. He had almost died for her…again. She grabbed a blood from the refrigerator and poured it out into a mug – amazed that she was not more grossed out. This was becoming normal. This _felt_ normal. She felt _good_. That thought did bring her up short - but she didn't want to examine her feelings too closely. And that was kind of weird actually – considering how she usually poured them out into her diary, studying them, dissecting them, deciphering them.

Silently, she made her way into the other room. "Well, _Hello_ Nurse," Damon leered in greeting.

Elena smirked a little, "Here you go – one blood, nice and warm – just what the doctor ordered." She had been right about his smirk – it was plastered brazenly all over his…smudged, but admittedly still very handsome face.

"You're dirty," He deadpanned.

"What?" she stammered, "Damon – _you_ are the one…"

Damon's smile broadened, "Your _shirt_, Elena – it's filthy. You should take it off."

"Damon."

"Change it – I meant you should change it," he looked at his blood, "Geez, Elena – you _are_ dirty."

Elena just screwed up her face as she crossed her arms across her chest, "I'm so sorry if I've made you uncomfortable with my lecherous ways."

Ooh, Damon knew this game – he had played it with Stefan once; "No apology necessary, because even though I like to pretend that I am completely uptight, secretly I _like_ it." He winked at her.

Elena's smirk disappeared as her mouth fell open, and she reaffirmed her strict non-self-examination policy, "You wish."

"I _know_."

Elena rolled her eyes, "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Straw?" Damon looked up at her.

"Yes Damon," she sighed quickly procuring one from the bar.

"Thank you," he turned; one arm up on the back of the couch to watch her walk.

"So, are you feeling any better?" she asked as she dropped the straw directly into his cup.

"A little," he groaned rubbing a supposedly sore shoulder with his free hand, "I'm still kind of achy."

Elena shook her head again at the sudden change in his otherwise lilting tone, her hands at her hips, "I think that you're enjoying this a little too much."

Damon just batted tranquil and innocently wide eyes up at her, "What-_ever_ could I find enjoyable about getting waited on hand and foot by a beautiful woman?"

Elena raised one eyebrow at him, "Fine," she said sitting down next to him, "give me your face," she grabbed his chin and turned his head to face her.

"Why? Are you going to kiss me again?"

His voice was gently mocking, but Elena detected a note of seriousness, and there was a (poorly) veiled intensity behind his eyes that Elena found strangely mesmerizing as she sat there so close to him, with one leg tucked up under her, the other dangling over the front of the sofa where it touched Damon's.

Elena was astonished at how quickly his mood could shift, how teasing and relaxed could turn into a tension so loaded that she could feel it in her pores faster than she could blink (something which she found she suddenly could not do). And the way his moods had the power to affect the air around him, the air that she was breathing. Somewhere deep in her consciousness Elena thought that she was actually _breathing_ him in somehow (though with ever increasing difficulty), breathing in his tension, his emotion, his pain and his desires. Everything that he was, filling up her lungs. It was frightening. And it was intoxicating. Her breath caught in her throat, choking on Damon's air.

The way he was looking at her– reminded Elena of their dance at the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, and she stared back into his eyes now as she had done that day, helpless to do otherwise – as she began to wipe the dirt from his face.

Sensing, with no small degree of incredulity Elena's complicity in the moment, Damon leaned into her hand slightly without ever taking his eyes away from hers, the blood forgotten as he enjoyed the cool sensation of the clean, damp towel on his sensitive, healing skin.

Caring for him in this way brought their kiss to the forefront of Elena's mind (not that it had been anything like _this_) and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks – something she knew Damon couldn't fail to notice – and she looked down as her hands fell away from his face.

Damon just watched her in silence; taking note of her flustered blush, her quickening heartbeat, her demure avoidance – and cautiously took her lack of outraged protest, her failure to jump up and move away from him, and the decided absence of girlish violence directed against his person in the form of her hitting or slapping him repeatedly, as a good sign. For once, he didn't want to say anything to mess it up.

"Damon," Elena began to speak, before realizing that she was addressing his lips, and she lifted her gaze thinking that perhaps, looking him in the face was the better alternative after all. Damon was all silent attention behind a concentrated blue gaze, and Elena immediately regretted her decision. She tried again, "I wanted to…thank you…for coming after me tonight. You risked your life for me…"

Damon was actually touched by her sincerity and he momentarily forgot his self-imposed word embargo, "Elena, I…"

Convinced that she had finally lost her mind, Elena held a finger to his lips to quiet him. His eyes widened in genuine confusion and surprise this time as he allowed her to silence him. Feeling the small tremor that went through Damon at her touch, the warmth in Elena's cheeks radiated through her neck and shoulders and sent a tiny current of electricity down her spine, and she stilled, closing her eyes while she waited for the chill to subside. "It wasn't the first time," she continued with some difficulty, "and, I know that it probably won't be the last." She paused, removing her hand from his mouth, "and I'm sorry."

Equally convinced that Elena had finally lost her mind, Damon didn't know what to say when she had finished. Finally he blinked, "I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

Instead of answering her, he leaned forward slowly, his blue eyes flitting with an unaccustomed diffidence between her deep brown ones and her lips. Damon was vaguely troubled by a sense of déjà vu – afraid that he would wake up and this would be Katherine again taunting him, and his stomach gave a turn. He fought the feeling. What the hell, he thought.

Elena saw him drawing closer, and her mind screamed at her to turn away, to get up, to think of Stefan, to think of _Katherine_… but she felt as though she was frozen in place – Damon's charged air surrounded her, holding her down, pinning her to the sofa. And, thinking of Katherine proved distinctly counter-productive to the goal of extricating herself from what she knew was about to happen, as it simply led back to Damon and how badly she had damaged him. Instead of moving away, she swallowed thickly, her breathing nearly halted, as she assured herself that this is _not_ what pity felt like. She watched as Damon closed his eyes first – his guard as far down as Elena had ever seen, and she closed her own as his lips brushed hers.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Katherine Pierce's Vampire Playhouse of Preening &amp; Planning.<strong>

The _actual_ Katherine would doubtless be rather gratified to know that her shadow hung so heavily over both Damon and Elena in their little moment of intimacy – for that matter she would be gratified that her petty prophecy had come to pass. Well, if it was possible to be gratified while simultaneously retching at the 'sweetness' factor.

As it was, Katherine had a different source of gratification.

Now that night had _finally_ fallen – she could put these ridiculous _frat_-pires to work. For once – Katherine was sorry that she had such a keen eye for the pretty. If the stakes weren't so high, and if she was very, very, _very_ drunk – she could maybe do a wild night of blood-filled keg stands – it probably wouldn't be any worse than having to hang out at that flea-bitten werewolf bar down in Florida with Mason and his buddies, and it would definitely involve fewer fur balls and a better choice of beverages… For a fleeting moment, she missed Isobel and even Pearl whom she had personally damned. In her experience woman were the smarter sex, but then intelligence was a necessary component in treachery as Katherine well knew from her own numerous carefully planned betrayals …but, if these idiots did anything to ruin her plans – she would make sure that they knew pain before she ripped their hearts out. Slowly.

Ah, but she was getting ahead of herself. And, after all – they had all been good boys and drank down their nummy-nummy vervain – which she had stolen for them personally from Damon Salvatore's cellar. _And_ - _Thomas_ and Vampire Idiot's Number 1 and Number 2 _had_ managed to pull off the hijacking. And _that_ was the source of her current sense of self-satisfaction.

She had found exactly what she had been looking for – a commercial truck bound for Mystic Falls carrying a cargo of fireworks for some self-congratulatory Founder's Gala or another. Katherine had never come across such proud people with so little reason to be. Maybe they just threw these parties as a way to conduct periodic head-counts to check in on the death-toll. She smiled to herself – thank god she had never lost her sense of humor.

Now, she would make sure that her little… darlings were fed – Ned the Truck Driver had most graciously volunteered himself in that capacity. And then they would wait until one or so – the only hours of relative quiet the Port seemed to enjoy were between one-thirty and three-thirty in the morning – and then Katherine's plan would become reality.

That was still quite a few hours away, and Katherine recalling the pretty wondered _who_ would be the best way to while away the hours.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Okay – so there wasn't too much action in this chapter – even after I promised myself I would pick up the pace, *but* you guys got a dose of Katherine AND a little Delena. So, I hope you forgive me.**

**Now, I am VERY self-conscious about writing the 'Delena' – and I am honestly still not sure how things are going to play out between those two crazy kids. But, if you enjoyed it – you should let me know – especially if you want more of it as I need *something* to counter-act the fist-shaking demons in my head screaming, "Cliché!" They scare the bejesus out of me, and as I stated in my earlier A/N – I am fresh out of booze.**

**Also: For those of you who love your Damon snarky, mean and badass – I hope that wasn't too much of a stretch for you! **


	16. Actions And Consequences

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – I dream that I DO!**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hi Guys – Thanks for much for the supportive and totally awesome reviews for the last chapter. Writing Romance makes me nervous – in fact, it gives me the shakes (or that might be the lack of alcohol…no judging people). On that note, thank you to Broken Memories for the bottle of Jack! Anyway, enough of my mindless prattle...**

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 16: Actions and Consequences.**

**Setting: Ric's Car: No Rest For the Weary.**

Ric was following the Sheriff's patrol car - with Bonnie in it - to the hospital, when he received an excited and very convoluted call from Caroline Forbes – complete with Tyler Lockwood providing a running commentary sprinkled generously with expletives in the background.

"Finally!" Caroline exclaimed, obviously relieved.

"Caroline? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" came the incredulous response, "Oh, I don't know," Caroline's pitch and tempo steadily increasing, "… maybe the fact that Jeremy tried his hand at spontaneous human _combustion_ earlier tonight, and the fact that I don't know where anyone is, and no one has been picking up their phones, and Elena is missing, and the meeting with my mother didn't go so well, and I…"

Ric's hands clamped down on his steering wheel, "Caroline – slow down…I'm not following you – go back to the first thing that you said."

He heard Caroline take a deep breath and then she started over, "Jeremy caught fire…"

"But, he's okay now!" That was Tyler.

"Right…right…he's okay now," Caroline continued.

"It was _really_ fucking freaky, dude…"

"Hold on," Ric's mouth set into the all too familiar grim line, as he gave his steering wheel a vicious turn, "I'll be right there."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Salvatore Boarding House of Love?<strong>

Damon was sitting on one side of the sofa, one foot crossing the other knee at a right angle, an arm tucked lazily behind his head, which was tilted back against the cushion until he almost faced the ceiling. His eyes were closed, his jaw was slack and his lips slightly parted as he slept.

They had both fallen asleep on the sofa, Elena next to Damon with her head against his shoulder. She realized that at some point that she must have migrated slightly – as she woke to find her head resting high on Damon's thigh. She threw him a furtive glance – he was sleeping. Elena had seen him looking vulnerable before – especially with the recent near-deaths and the now fully-reconstituted memory of the night he had returned her necklace – but, she had never seen him looking so…innocent or so unencumbered or so _young_.

Damon opened his eyes when Elena began to stir, he could see that she had moved –had curled herself into a ball, her head resting on his leg. He bit back a smile and quickly closed his eyes again as she began to turn her head in his direction.

Aware of the compromised nature of her position with regard to her boyfriend's brother, Elena tried to slowly lift her head and slide herself down to the far end of the couch.

Damon opened his eyes again, "Elena?"

Feeling like she had just been caught removing her hand from the proverbial cookie jar, Elena's head jerked up mid shift, "Uh…yeah?"

"Just checking," Damon closed his eyes again and smirked.

"Ookay," Elena finished resituating herself as far from him as she could manage. Self-consciously grabbing a pillow and throwing it over her lap, she looked back at Damon, "How long were we out?"

"About an hour," he drawled without moving; then suddenly cocking his head and meeting her eyes, "Did you know that you snore?"

"I do not."

"No need to get all defensive…and yeah, you _really_ do – like a sexy little freight train," Damon sniffed critically at the remnants of his forgotten mug of blood, scrunched up his nose and returned it to its spot on the side table.

"Yeah, well – you _drool_."

"What?" Damon straightened up, uncrossed his legs and quickly brushed a hand across his mouth, a little scandalized. When his hand came up dry, he narrowed his eyes at Elena, "You little _liar_!"

"Oh please," Elena shot back, "the way you sleep with your mouth hanging open down to your chest - I wouldn't be surprised."

He paused, "So – you were watching me sleep."

"Damon," Elena's voice reeked of warning bells – which Damon ignored.

"Elena," he mocked her tone.

Elena sighed. She didn't want to get into this with him now. First, she had kissed him, and _now_ – she had let him kiss her. The kiss itself had been a fairly innocent affair and she had drifted off not too long after, curled by his side, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around hers. But, even Elena had to admit that there wasn't anything innocent about the way it had made her feel, and Damon…well, there wasn't anything innocent about him at _all_.

She liked their easy bickering-banter – it was the only thing that seemed even remotely _normal_ right now, it might be the only thing keeping her sane. Things didn't seem as dire, as hopeless, if she could just have _this_. But, it didn't change anything. Jeremy was still bewitched, or haunted, or whatever; Bonnie was still in shock at the hospital; Sheriff Forbes was still a potential threat and Stefan – her _boyfriend_ Stefan – was still missing, off somewhere with Klaus and probably in danger. And, anyway Elena didn't even know what 'this' was – and what 'this' entailed to Damon. And…it would be selfish to let him think it… She carefully weighed her potential topic options before speaking; "Why do you think Emily let you live?"

Damon wasn't an idiot. He knew very well what terrain Elena's mind was covering behind her furrowed brow, before her abrupt conversational U-turn. He let it slide. For now. He shrugged; pulling at the fabric of what had been one of his favorite shirts, inspecting the damage, "She made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"And what does that mean?"

Scowling at the premature loss of yet another designer name, Damon stood and stretched his limbs, "It means, _dearest_ Elena, that although Emily would take _much_ pleasure in being the cause of my sorely belated demise – she _really_ wants someone else."

"Who?" Elena blurted out, "She wouldn't take me…and she could have taken Bonnie if she had wanted to… Did she say who she wanted?"

Damon rolled his shoulders into his neck with deliberation, working out the kinks; "Man, I _really_ need a shower," he said finally, turning his eyes back to Elena, "you know you could use one too. Two birds, one stone? What do you say?" He grinned unabashedly, one eyebrow raised in overt and dramatic flirtatious query.

"Damon – be serious. What did Emily say to you?"

Damon rolled his eyes a little before continuing, "Well, then _I_ asked _her_ if she could vague that up for me. And she did. She said that 'all would be revealed' or something equally trite and unhelpful…I really,_really_ hate witches." Damon paused, regarding Elena suggestively, "And I assure you that that was and still _is_ a completely serious offer."

"Fine," Elena huffed out, chaffing under his scrutiny, her traitorous cheeks heating up at his ridiculous offer. Flustered and completely frustrated she kept talking, "If you feel…well enough…to take a shower _with_ me, then you should be fine taking one alone. And I should go." She stood resolutely, "I haven't heard from Ric yet, but I told Bonnie that I would meet her at the hospital – maybe Emily said something to her – and I need to check in on Jeremy first. Actually," she paused, "give me your phone so I can call Caroline – I can't find mine….I probably lost it when you carried me out of the fire…"

Realizing her frustration, Damon cut into her monologue in a slightly impatient, but almost conciliatory tone, "Elena…." but Elena had turned her attention to the couch most determinedly searching for her phone amid the cushions, while most conscientiously avoiding Damon's warm earnest gaze. "_Elena_…" he said her name again, intent on regaining her full attention one last time today.

Elena straightened and turned back to him, her voice colored by irritation, "What, Damon? I…"

Suddenly, Damon was in front of her. He was close… very close. And Elena's words died on her lips. He angled his head down and kept his voice low, so that he was almost whispering into her hair, "You might not be comfortable about what happened earlier tonight," he began, touching a hand gently to her cheek and feeling her muscles tighten, her sharp but silent intake of air, "You might not want to talk about it, you might not even want to _think_ about it – but, we both know that you _are_ going to think about it," he spoke slowly, trailing one hand lightly down her arm and pausing to allow both of them to enjoy the full effects of Elena's answering shiver, "and sooner or later – it _will_ be addressed."

Elena let out her breath, angry at Damon for pushing this on her when so much else was going on, angry at Stefan for leaving her, and angry at herself for knowing that Damon was right. At least, she knew that he wasn't wrong. She _was_ uncomfortable, she _didn't_ want to talk about it and she _was_ going to think about it. But, Elena maintained her footing, refusing to wilt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of shying away from him. Instead, she waited for him to pull back a little and she turned her face up to look at him, careful to keep her eyes hard and her voice even, "Your phone…please."

Damon was satisfied that he had made his point and he backed off. He had absolutely no intention of chasing death down over and over again _just_ to get Elena to understand herself. For Christ sakes, did _all_ of her revelations have to involve his imminent _death_? Sure, Damon was maybe not the ideal poster-boy for healthy, well adjusted emotional intelligence, but how fucked up was _that?_ But, Damon thought that he understood her now – and if she needed a little time and …encouragement, then so be it.

However, Elena had made her point as well. And, all things being equal – Damon wanted Stefan back too. "It's in my jacket," his tone hardening somewhat to match hers, and as casually distant now as it had been urgently intimate a moment ago, "And _that_ is wherever you left it when you stripped it off me. Help yourself," he shrugged walking toward the kitchen, deciding that one more blood bag before his shower wouldn't hurt.

Still a little discomposed beneath her unyielding exterior, Elena looked around her trying to remember where she had dropped Damon's ruined jacket. Eventually, she spotted it on the floor under an occasional table. She softened ever so slightly when she found it. It was singed, with holes burnt right through the leather in places; it reeked of smoke, and the metal of the zipper was deformed in places where it had melted and cooled again. She fished through the pockets delicately eventually producing two objects. One was Damon's phone – obviously useless; the other was a large purple stone, cut like a diamond.

"Uh, Damon," she called out over her shoulder to his retreating figure, "What's this?" She turned and held the gem in an outstretched hand.

Damon turned away from the kitchen doors and approached her, eyeing the object she held and his eyes flickered in surprise and annoyance, "Great," he drawled caustically, rolling his eyes again, "Just what we needed – another fucking macguffin."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls General Hospital: Let Us Guess…You Were Attacked By An Animal?<strong>

Alaric sat tiredly, his back bent forward with an elbow on each knee, drinking a black and bitter beverage which the hospital seemed to regard as coffee by Bonnie's bedside. She was sleeping under a heated blanket and was hooked up to an IV receiving fluids to stabilize her blood pressure – but, she was fine, they said. She did not look fine to Ric.

No one was fine.

Alaric had just arrived at the hospital from home…from the Gilbert home…where, he had seen Jeremy, alive and awake and asking about his sister. The fire had been small and localized, and successfully put out by Tyler and Caroline, and from what Alaric had been able to decipher – Caroline had been checking the burns, trying to decide if she should give him some blood – when they healed on their own. Which meant that it had been his ring that had precipitated the healing…which meant that the fire had been supernatural…which could only mean the witches. And given the goddamned inferno that he had just come from – there was no way that could be a coincidence.

As far as Damon and Elena not answering their phones – well, he didn't know exactly why they wouldn't, but he had driven behind them the entire way to the Boarding House, had stopped briefly to help get Damon through the door, and was sure that they were as okay as could be expected. Jeremy was okay, and Elena really didn't need another trauma just now. Neither did Bonnie for that matter, he raised his eyes to look her over and shook his head again at her restless form.

Sheriff Forbes had just left. Ric had let her know that he needed to check on Jeremy, and she had insisted on staying with Bonnie in his absence. And her presence certainly had helped them to bypass some bureaucratic red-tape that could otherwise have been problematic, including but not limited to: parental notification.

Ric was grateful, but still unsettled by the situation generally and by the information that he had let slip. In the relative calm of Bonnie's private hospital room, the sheriff had finally thought to ask why Jenna wasn't capable of 'watching' her nephew. He hadn't even considered that there was anything left that Sheriff Forbes didn't already know about, and the subsequent conversation had stirred up a lot of pain for Ric, and had called into question the future guardianship of the Gilbert kids.

Doctors and nurses came and went, one after another, checking Bonnie's neck in confusion – as though expecting something to be there that wasn't - and Ric wondered just what kind of hospital ward they were in, and throwing confused looks his way. He would tell them that she was his student and their looks would darken with suspicion. _Perverts. _

Ric stood, feeling restless himself, and walked over to the window to look out into the night. Lifting a hand to part the flimsy curtains – he jumped back almost a foot, dropping his Styrofoam cup when the night's large and luminous eyes looked back at him.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Water-front Resort of Rippers, Miami Beach: Spring 'Break' Vampire-Style.<strong>

Stefan paced alone in the hotel room, his own beating heart the only sound he could hear through the roaring in his head, clasping and unclasping his hands compulsively. Soon... very soon, the last of the vervain would be out of Stefan's system. Then, Stefan would have no defense left. If Klaus decided to keep asking about Elena, Stefan would tell him anything he wanted to know – and then _Elena_ would have no defense left.

If he could just stop drinking, stop feeding – the vervain would last longer – if he could just keep it in his system a little longer…He stopped his pacing abruptly, combing a shaky hand through his hair, his green eyes slightly wild with flawed reasoning, impaired logic. Stefan could do it. He could control himself. He'd done it before. He didn't need human blood. He shook his head forcefully, as he continued his nervous strides. He would stop. He would stop feeding and he would save Elena. Save Elena, save the world; Stefan laughed to himself a little manically, unexpectedly remembering a television show that Lexi had liked to watch. Save Elena, save himself, he corrected his convoluted thinking. Saving Elena might be the only source of salvation still open to Stefan. And, Damon…Damon was safe as long as he didn't come after Stefan, as long as Stefan stayed with Klaus…. He could control himself; he just wished that he could _see_ Elena, to reaffirm his control, to touch her soft skin…to smell her…

"No, no, no, no…" Stefan verbalized with increasing emphasis. Elena was safer this way, Elena was better off forgetting that they had ever met – and Damon could protect her… Damon. Damon and Elena. Elena and Damon…together. Damon comforting Elena…Damon protecting Elena…Damon in _love_ with Elena. Stefan slammed a hand violently against the closest wall. He left it there and brought his other hand to lean alongside the first, bracing his trembling frame from the pounding in his ears, the white-hot searing behind his eyes; the burning on his skin.

He wasn't thinking clearly, _couldn't_ think clearly. He took a ragged breath, simultaneously wishing Elena happiness wherever she could find it and wondering vindictively how long it would take for her to jump into his brother's open arms. And, so what if she did? Fate had already intervened to prove who was the more dangerous Salvatore; the more uncontrolled, the _real_ predator.

And, she had already made it very clear that she didn't want him; not really… not forever. He should have broken things off with her officially before he had left, should have formalized what Elena herself had begun the night before the sacrifice with such horrifying clarity. What she had been too loyal and too sad and too disgusted to see through to its logical conclusion in the aftermath. He had already lost her before he had thrown himself into his bargain with Klaus. He had left her before she could leave him. Maybe…maybe that had been a part of why he had. Maybe he wanted oblivion; maybe he _wanted_ 'liberation,' maybe he wasn't good. Obviously, he wasn't good _enough_.

Stefan let out a low deep helpless growl of rage and despair. So caught up was he in his own tortured thoughts, that he didn't even hear it when the door was opened behind him.

"Hey," came a young and offhand greeting, a feminine, but pleasantly deep and sun-soaked voice behind him.

Stefan's head jerked up from its resting place hugging the wall. He spun around, "Elena?" he choked.

"Uh, sorry," the girl advanced into the room, casually tossing a beach towel on the bed closest to the door, "I'm Ava," she paused looking at the very handsome boy, with the very ripped abs clearly visible behind a sporty white tank and smiled, "Are you Scott's friend? He said that you were coming…"

Stefan's eyes raked over this new addition to his world, his head canting dangerously, a smile playing around his lips, "Just got in," he nodded. "You look like you know where the fun is." She had long dark shining hair, glowing tanned olive-skin, and large eyes so dark brown they were almost black, and she was slender and lovely, if a little shorter than Elena.

Ava's smiled broadened showing off her perfect white teeth. Maybe he was single. "I know how to have a good time," she conceded slyly, "Do you?"

"I'm learning," Stefan inclined his head slightly, his voice smooth and seductive – covering the deafening pain tearing through his head.

"Well, first things first – do you have a bathing suit?" Ava's smile and voice increasingly flirtatious, obviously enjoying the prospect of 'teaching' this little boy lost.

Stefan held his open hands out helplessly before him, "The airport lost my luggage," he shrugged.

Ava thought it was a little strange that he wouldn't have one thrown into his carry-on, but her spring break just improved exponentially, "Oh…that sucks," she sympathized, "Well, I'm sure Scott won't mind," she broke their eye contact to saunter over to a bureau, trying to guess at which was the right drawer. She paused when she felt the unmistakable heat of an as yet unknown hot guy standing very close behind her. "You haven't told me your name."

Stefan came to a stop inches from Ava, wondering at her tunnel-vision. How if she would just think to look, just take a moment to turn her head she would see Scott. She would see him and two others dead and drained, piled up and left to rot on the floor between the two full beds to her left. But, Ava would not look; she would keep her gaze deliberately on the furniture, deliberately away from Stefan – deliberately unaware of the danger. "Stefan," he drawled in a stage-whisper, his eyes almost black and his blood rushing to the network of increasingly prominent capillaries spreading across his countenance, one hand mindlessly tracing the slope of her enticing shoulders; his eyes idly following the grazing movements of his fingers, lost in her contours.

"Stefan," she repeated a little breathlessly, "that's…nice…"

"Not really," Stefan murmured softly into her raspberry scented hair before grabbing it viciously, tearing her head back towards him, mercilessly exposing the long lines of her pulsating neck, throwing Ava off-balance. He held her startled and frightened frame flush against him one strong arm wrapped around her tiny waste, inhaling the exhilarating aroma of her fear, nearly drunk with blood-lust. "I would tell you to run…but, you _can't_." He tore savagely into her virgin skin.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Okay, sorry again about the delay. Here's the thing – my job just got A LOT more complicated. I have been chosen to train for a new and high-pressure position – one which involves much longer days and homework. Now, this is my problem…er, opportunity…not yours, but, it may mean weekly updates as opposed to bi-weekly updates. That said, however, I am still committed to finishing this story. And your AMAZING reviews definitely help me cut through the stress and reaffirm my commitment. **

**So, many thanks to all my reviewers – you really *do* keep me going. Well, YOU and COFFEE. Lots and Lots of Coffee. Maybe a little too much coffee.  
><strong>

**A/N 3: Whaddaya guys think about Bad!Stefan? ;)**


	17. The Downward Spiral

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – I dream that Damon owns me!**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: Hey Kids! Sorry again about the new posting (non-)schedule. BDA: now with *more* waiting! All I can say is that I am probably more frustrated about it than you are…**

**Thank You, as always to all my readers and reviewers for your wonderful reviews and your patience. Thanks to Broken Memories, Kat, Ceres and ****Roleyc70 – your reviews totally brighten my day.**

**Okay, and now I think that you have all waited long enough, so…onto the next chapter….**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 17: The Downward Spiral.**

**Setting: Mystic Falls General, Department of Willful Ignorance: Wing Funded by The Founding Families.**

Immediately following the conclusion of Ric's brief staring competition with the night (the night had won), his heart was still racing as he stumbled backwards and turned to see Bonnie sitting up eerily in her bed, her closed eyes focused on Ric. Startled, Alaric tried to swallow back his fear, "Mother_fu_…," he gasped roughly, convinced that Bonnie was staring straight through him, with her unseeing eyes.

She was.

"Bonnie...?" Ric began, as she opened her mouth to speak. The voice which greeted Ric was not her own.

The room felt cold, and Ric could feel the chill air snaking around him like a living entity, grabbing his ankles and pulling and pushing its way up his spine; seeping into his marrow, leaving the tiny hairs on his arms and neck standing on end in the wake of its icy touch.

Then it spoke. And whatever it was, _it_ was most certainly _not_ Bonnie Bennett, "Alaric Saltzman, human, outsider," it said, labeling and questioning him in a strangely formal, but soft and genuinely curious lilt, "Why have you inserted yourself in these matters which are none of your concern?"

Alaric was dumbfounded. And when he tried to speak again, he found that he was also mute. The voice was smooth and sweet like dripping honey, soothing and almost hypnotically melodious but laced with a palpable undercurrent of menace. And, it was coming from the bruised, battered and _sleeping_ body of Bonnie. In short, Ric was monumentally creeped out. He coughed, trying to find the voice which had abandoned him, "Uh…Bonnie…now would be a _really_ good time to wake up."

The Thing That Was Not Bonnie smiled indulgently at his fear, but dropping her line of inquiry, which was after all irrelevant, issued her order, "Assemble them."

"Uhh…okay?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Miami Beach Resort of Rippers: Poolside Deck Of The Damned.<strong>

Klaus was sprawled out on a deck chair enjoying the swimming, running and sunning of his own personal all-you-can-eat buffet. He watched the lovely, lovely girls and boys – so young and barely dressed; his light brown sculpted eyebrows arched slightly and visible above the dark horizon of his sunglasses. In this age of industrial production and ever more advanced technology - free-range, happy humans were still the tastiest, after all - vastly superior in quality to the caged variety. And Klaus should know.

He smiled at the girls who threw looks his way, complacent, inviting and enigmatic, feeling the totality of his superiority as he imagined idly how they might taste under the protective tender wrapping of their skin. Klaus leaned back and closed his eyes as Stefan approached, "Ah Stefan, my broody and dour raincloud…did you manage to scrounge up some dinner?"

Laughter. There was always calm and contemptuous laughter in Klaus' voice. It ricocheted in Stefan's mind, pushing, pulling, reshaping and puncturing ragged holes in his moral boundaries, constantly mocking and stretching the ethical walls that he had worked so hard to reestablish. Stefan choked back the tickle of his encroaching madness, willing himself to mask it behind a cool reptilian gaze – even knowing, as he did, that there was little that he could hide from Klaus; "I did." He answered simply, quietly, trying to ignore the fresh blood calling to him from every direction.

"I do love resorts," Klaus drawled without bothering to look at Stefan, "No invitation required, room-service, swimming with dolphins…" Klaus quirked an eye at Stefan; "That was a joke, Stefan – You really need to lighten up, learn to laugh – what is Eternity worth if you can't laugh?"

"I'll laugh," Stefan said with a dark smile of his own, crossing his arms across his chest, "when I hear something funny."

"Oh, someone is feeling feisty this evening. That is as well." Klaus sat up, "Oh, and, speaking of room service – did you…?"

"Your _meal_ is waiting for you," Stefan ground it out, the words sounding wrong and distasteful on his lips, that particular temptation no longer immediately before him.

"Does it have a name?" he inquired politely, watching Stefan's face carefully.

Stefan turned away from Klaus' scrutiny and sat at the pool's edge. He tried to keep his hollow and hypocritical disgust out of his voice Stefan whispered, "_Her_ name is Ava." The fingers on his right hand twitched, his thumb feeling the lines and curves of his daylight ring.

"I see…And, you tasted her, I presume?" Klaus lowered his voice as well and the two vampires relied on their heightened senses to bridge the small distance between them.

Stefan controlled his features, his hazel eyes threatening to glaze, his gums tingling in that mix of painful but pleasurable anticipation, remembering her flavor, the unique taste of her blood mixed with her desire and her fear. He did not answer.

Klaus smiled wide taking his companions' retreat into silence as confirmation, as his bare feet found his flip-flops, "Good."

He leaned over the length of his chaise, speaking quietly into the exposed skin of Stefan's shoulder, "And, did you compel her?"

Stefan almost shuddered feeling Klaus' breath on his neck. Almost. "No," Stefan whispered. He hadn't even used that trick, that…mercy...if you could call it that. He had taken her unadulterated, had subdued her with his hands - with brute force, leaving her mind and her terror intact. "Excellent," Klaus purred, before standing and clapping his hands together in exaggerated anticipation, "I am famished!"

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><p><strong>Setting: Salvatore Boarding House of Mistaken Identities.<strong>

The Mayor rang the bell of the Salvatore House with her good arm and looked around the harshly lit front porch impatiently. After her 'dropped call' with Sheriff Forbes, she hadn't been able to reach her. If she thought she was going to save herself by avoiding Mayor Lockwood's calls – she had another thing coming. _Then again_, she paused; she hadn't been able to get a hold of Damon Salvatore either…Maybe they _had_ run into trouble out in the woods.

Damon was young and he was friends with Liz, but he was also a founding family member, reliable, informed and a proven asset when it came to keeping this town safe…and Carol Lockwood wanted his opinion on Sheriff Forbes' performance. Hell, if he was just a little older – she might offer _him_ the position.

She turned her attention to the door as it opened, "Elena?"

Katherine's eyes swept the Mayor's – _uptight and kind of imperious_ - figure. Once upon a time it had been amusing to pretend to be her doppelganger – but, all those times had involved Stefan and violence…well, and that one _non_-violent time with Damon…"Mayor Lockwood, right?" She intoned, her voice falling a little flat. She had come here looking for more vervain and was irked to find that Damon had decided to be observant, obviously having already noticed the missing supply and moved it. Her lips curled into an ambiguous half smile remembering the search for the moonstone and Damon's surviving inclination towards indulging his ridiculous sense of whimsy at the expense of his sense. She tossed one arm casually across the doorframe, blocking the Mayor from entering.

Carol's eye's sharpened on Katherine, "Don't be silly, Elena – you know _me_." The Mayor's voice was taut, subconsciously compensating for a growing feeling of unease which remained unacknowledged. It was just Elena Gilbert visiting her boyfriend on a Friday night, "have you been drinking?"

Katherine's eyes sparkled but she suppressed her smile and shook her head slowly, "No, Mayor Lockwood."

Carol pursed her lips, not entirely satisfied, but determined to interpret this action as completely sober and respectful and her thoughts returned to the reason for her visit as her eyes strayed past Katherine to scan the interior hall, "I'm looking for Stefan's brother – is he at home?"

Katherine made her decision without missing a beat, "Of course Mayor, he's upstairs – why don't you come inside?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls General Hospital of Horrors.<strong>

Everyone was assembled now, crowded silently into Bonnie's hospital room; waiting.

Jeremy stood by Bonnie, his hand holding hers, watching her expectantly; with Elena on the other side carefully observing them both. Damon stood in a lean behind Elena, his hands gripping the window sill also watching Bonnie with hawk-eyes. Ric was situated warily at the foot of the bed, while Tyler and Caroline took up two of the room's three visitor's chairs, set up against the wall opposite the window. Caroline sat back tiredly, her legs neatly crossed – Tyler was angled forward, an elbow resting on either knee, his hands slack before him.

Bonnie was a little uncomfortable, having woken up to find everyone gathered and…staring at her…really intensely…. She held onto Jeremy's hand, her eyes on Alaric at the foot of the bed.

Finally, Tyler broke the silence, "Uh, guys? I know I'm new to this super-secret supernatural friends' network, but what exactly are we expecting to happen?"

"Would you be quiet before the hospital remembers their 'no pets' policy;" Damon snarked.

"Listen, Salvatore I've had about enough of your fucking dog jokes…" Tyler started to rise – but, Caroline's hand shot out, grabbing his lightly as he stood, "Tyler…don't waste your time."

"Yeah, _Tyler_ – you should listen to your girlfriend…"

"Damon," Elena turned to glare at him, "Would you give it a rest."

"I think we're waiting for a message…" Jeremy offered, without looking away from Bonnie.

Bonnie sighed heavily, but with resignation; "We're waiting for my body to be violently possessed by my dead witch ancestor…again." Jeremy squeezed her hand and she tried to smile at him.

"Oh…Okay then." He sat back down. He really needed a handbook or something, some kind of reference material, 'Supernatural For Dummies' or some shit. He wasn't a huge reader – he was more visually orientated – but, Tyler thought that for this he would make an exception. Caroline absently laid a comforting hand on his back.

"Aren't you glad you asked?" Damon almost sympathized. "Actually," Damon pushed himself off the wall, "Dog-Boy is right…no _offense_ Lockwood…" he added disingenuously in a loud whispered aside, "_Emily_," He sang out her name to the ceiling, "We're _all_ here – Can we get this Magical Mystery Tour on the road, already?"

"Damon – give Bonnie the stone," Elena suggested, "We already know it came from Emily."

Yes, the new and improved, extra-shiny bar of soap. Damon fished it out of his jacket pocket – luckily he had a spare leather jacket – it paid to have a back-up plan and a back-up wardrobe when you lived in Mystic Falls. If this place wasn't on a Hellmouth – it may as well be. Damon approached the bed; the stone firmly in one fisted hand and extended his arm, but hesitating, he yanked his hand back again almost immediately. "Are you _sure_ you're up for this?" He asked her, surreptitiously taking in her frail body and the IV tubes still tucked into her veins.

Bonnie looked up at Damon and gave him a crooked half smile, amused but cynical, before lifting her hand. Every once in a while he managed to surprise her. A little. "You and I both know that I don't have a choice."

"No Bonnie," Jeremy interrupted, "Damon's right, you don't have to…"

"Damon knows as well as I do that I have to do this," she broke in evenly her eyes locked in a silent discussion with Damon. Jeremy may not like it, but Bonnie was convinced that his life – or at least, his sanity – was hanging in the balance.

Elena glanced at Damon's profile, a little surprised by his apparent reluctance and… concern? When did that happen? Her gaze swept fleetingly across Bonnie and Jeremy before she lowered her lashes, suddenly fascinated by the cold, hard hospital linoleum beneath her feet. Elena felt something unfamiliar gnawing at her. She felt rebuked by _Damon_ - ashamed that he was, in his own way, expressing more misgivings on Bonnie's behalf than she herself was. But, he was her _brother_ – she had to know what Emily wanted…, "It's the _only_ way, Jer…"

"You don't know that, Elena…" He interrupted in frustration at her perpetual 'Big sister knows best' act.

Damon held up a hand gesturing for silence and he shrugged slightly, his face pulled into a serious but non-committal expression. As far as he was concerned, the only thing that he _knew_ – was that Emily was one crazy, vindictive bitch. He appraised Bonnie, his eyes still lit by doubt, "We have _no_ idea what she wants – but, if she chewed me up and spit me back out – then it's something _big_." He searched her somber brown eyes, "So, I'm going to ask you one more time: Are. You. Sure?"

Her face a mask of determination, Bonnie nodded; "Let me have it."

Damon inhaled deeply, extended his hand and dropped the purple stone into Bonnie's open hand.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Miami Beach Resort of Rippers: Motel of Mind Games.<strong>

Klaus entered the room and sighed in deep appreciation for life's little ironies. The child looked just like sweet Elena. Mauled and bloodied and tied up, but the resemblance was striking. Perhaps his new charge was trying to work through the issues which held him back. He turned to Stefan, who had shadowed him into the room but maintained his distance, choosing instead to stand stiffly near the door, his hands in his pockets.

"Stefan," he congratulated, "You have quite outdone yourself. I am well and truly impressed with the magnitude of the deep-seeded psychological perversity that this represents. You would sacrifice Elena again and again?" Admittedly, his choice reeked of his humanity – but, if he would not forget his human girlfriend, he could use her to feed his hunger and fuel his descent. That worked too, really. Klaus could be flexible.

Stefan bristled, closing his eyes and leaning back tiredly, "_That_ is not Elena."

"And yet," Klaus rejoined thoughtfully.

"_She_ found _me_."

"And if you had seen her first – you would have felt nothing?"

"No."

"Stefan – _when_ will you understand that you cannot lie to me?" Klaus paused before going on, drawing out his words slowly, "I _know_ what you are."

Stefan was quiet.

Losing his patience; Klaus scowled as he took large and heavy steps towards the armchair where his dinner was bound and shook her awake, "Your fake restraint, your stubborn silence and your irritating stoicism just isn't going to cut it this time, Stefan," he hissed. He cupped the girl's face with one strong hand, as her disoriented dark eyes flew between Klaus and Stefan, "Please…" she began weakly, "Please…help…" Klaus tipped her face up to meet his eyes, "Shut up and listen to me. Your name is Elena Gilbert…"

"No!" Stefan broke his silence from across the room, propelling himself forward off the door, "Don't…"

"Your name is Elena Gilbert, and _that,_" Klaus continued unperturbed, as he pointed conspiratorially towards Stefan, "is your _adoring_ boyfriend Stefan Salvatore whom you love very much…do you understand?"

"Don't do this," Stefan begged, afraid to intervene, afraid to get too close to Ava.

"I understand," Ava mumbled around the bright red blood slicking down the corner of her mouth.

"Good," Klaus nodded, "Now, your life is in danger and you must beg your boyfriend to help you, yes?" still holding her chin Klaus took it upon himself to move the girl's head into a nod for her, "Yes. Now, _do_ be quiet until I tell you otherwise," Klaus stood and reeled around to face Stefan.

Stefan's eyes were wide with horror, his jaw slack. "That doesn't make her Elena…You can't _make_ her Elena…"

"No?" Klaus furrowed his brow, "She looks like Elena, _she_ thinks she's Elena, she thinks she _loves_ you, trusts _you."_ Klaus called over his shoulder, "Isn't that right, Elena?"

Prompted, Ava cried out, "Stefan…_help_ me…untie me."

Stefan shook his head, "This isn't real…you can't…"

"Reality is _perception_, Stefan! And _your_ reality is what _I_ say it is. Is Elena alive or dead?"

"Dead," he choked, "She's dead. She died in the sacrifice…" Stefan prayed in silent desperation to no one that there was still some vervain in his system.

"Did she?"

"Yes," Stefan's voice hitched.

"Stefan…why won't you help me?"

"You're not _real_!" Stefan exploded; his mind reeling, his hands clutched at his head in a futile effort to use physical force to hold himself together, to keep his mind in one piece, as Ava began to cry.

"Isn't she?" Klaus goaded; a malicious light in his amber eyes.

"That isn't what I meant…,"Stefan turned away in confusion; his eyes shut tight, "She's not Elena."

"Isn't she, Stefan? Look at her…," Klaus voice became dangerously soft, "Look at the long, shining chestnut hair, the dark doe eyes, round with fear and looking to you as her lifeline, as her salvation…"

"Stop it!"

"Look at her."

"I can't…" Stefan shuddered, his entire body trembling with distress.

"You _can_…You _must_…" Klaus insisted, an urgent voice in Stefan's already crowded and chaotic head.

"It's not Elena, it's not Elena, it's not Elena," Stefan repeated his mantra.

"Stefan," she beseeched, "I'm hurt...I'm bleeding..."

Chirst, she even _sounded_ like Elena.

"...why won't you help me?"

Stefan crumbled, his reality and his legs collapsing uselessly beneath him as he fell to his knees, his upper body meeting the floor is a grotesque parody of religious supplication.

"Don't you recognize her Stefan? She needs you…" Klaus was the serpent whispering in Stefan's ear.

Stefan looked up and he swallowed, "Elena?"

"That's right, Stefan. Can't you see the toned skin, the slender build?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"Look at me, Stefan," Klaus crouched low before Stefan and grabbed him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes with intent, "Why, I believe that this IS Elena – don't you agree, Stefan?"

"Yes," he repeated; his mouth agape.

"Well…she's _crying_ you nit…," Klaus chastised as he helped Stefan to stand, "don't be a bad boyfriend, Stefan – go and tell her that you love her."

"I love her."

"Don't be an ass, Stefan – you don't need to tell _me_ that you love her, you need to tell _her_ that you love her," he instructed without mercy, guiding Stefan towards Ava by his shoulders and giving him a little shove.

Stefan blinked rapidly and rushed to Ava's side, gently stroking her face before moving to untie her bindings, "Elena…don't…don't cry…it's me…it's Stefan."

"Stefan? You're going to save me, aren't you?"

"_Always_," he agreed savagely as he embraced her, "I will _always_ save you."

Ava nodded vigorously in his arms, despite her tears. As he finally pulled away, she looked from one newly freed hand to other still tied down, "I love you Stefan…"

"I love you too, Elena."

She stood uncertainly as Stefan bent to work at the ropes around her ankles.

Klaus waited patiently for this drama of his own making to unfold, for the professions of love, the promises of forever, the tears…he defied Hollywood itself to produce a scene so moving, so visceral, so…replete with the trappings of mortal life. He waited patiently as Stefan freed his fragile lady-love. Klaus had nothing if he did not have Time.

Klaus did not have to wait long, however, as soon Ava was free and she and Stefan were locked in a tight embrace, his arms wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

Stefan was so close now he could smell her blood, could feel its inexorable pull. He pulled her closer as he felt that familiar ache along his gum line. He shivered quietly opening and closing his mouth, his lips lost in her raspberry and blood scented tresses. Feeling the blood rushing to his face, feeling his fangs tearing their way to the surface…he released a mangled and tortured groan and pushed Ava away instinctively with so much force that she fell backwards – shock and betrayal writ large across her face.

Klaus stepped forward, again grabbing Stefan by the shoulders, "You recognize her now?"

"Yes," Stefan growled trying to keep his urges at bay.

"You want to rescue her…to protect her, yes?"

"Yes," he said again, raking his hands through his hair.

"You love her and would never hurt her?"

"YES," he reaffirmed for Klaus and for himself, broken by his desire for her and his desire to drink her dry.

"It's okay, Stefan…look at me…I want you to help Elena up, tell her that you love her again and snap her neck."

"No…"

Klaus moved his hands from Stefan's shoulders to hold his face, to keep him still, "Kill her."

Stefan's shoulders slumped, the ever-present tension finally giving way to the helpless relaxation of someone whose will is not truly their own, "No," he protested one last time, his voice feeble to his own ears, "not Elena."

"_Yes_, _Elena_. Kill her and you will be free."

Ava watched from the floor in growing panic as her muddled brain struggled to comprehend what Stefan was being told to do, "Stefan?"

Stefan turned to look down at her, his hazel gaze tender and sorrowful, "I love you Elena," he sighed, "Please know that."

Ava nodded hesitantly, not sure what Stefan would do next, "I do…I do know that Stefan."

He knelt down on one knee and extended both arms to take her hands in his, "I'm glad." He rose up again, pulling her gently to her feet.

Ava searched his features warily as Stefan brushed her hair out of her face with his fingers, tucking it behind her ears. He left his hands to rest on her cheeks as he leaned in, lightly grazing his lips over her bloodied ones before his grip on her head tightened and he withdrew his lips from her mouth. He kissed her forehead once and wrenched her head until he heard the satisfying cracking of her vertebrae. Her body suddenly limp his arms, he released his hold and she slid to the floor. His eyes followed her downward progress, his salted tears obscuring his vision of her face.

Klaus' voice rang out behind him, breaking Stefan out of his trance, "Now, because I _know_ that you've been lying to me…let's see how you handle the real thing…"

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><p><strong>AN 2: Ummm, so that was pretty cruel what I just did to Stefan right there. I hope it wasn't too repetitive for you all. Once again, I'm afraid that I rushed the writing a bit. Unlike Klaus – *I* cannot afford to take an eternity for edits and re-reads. Although, I wish I could. Sad ZenKat makes sadface.  
><strong>

**A/N 3: Also: Ceres – Klaus doesn't *know* that Elena is alive, but he does have his suspicions – which were voiced in the first section of Chapter 11. Thanks!  
><strong>


	18. Haunted

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – Well…never mind about that…**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, I'm a little nervous here. That Stefan/Klaus scene from the last chapter got such a positive, yet appropriately horrified, response – that I don't know exactly HOW to follow it up! So, of course – this chapter fought me at every turn. And, here we are two weeks later… I hope you guys are still out there…and if you *are* then I'm sorry this chapter took so long!**

_**Okay**_**, moving on: Thank You so much for the Reviews – specifically, as always to those I could not PM personally: Amanda, Ceres and Kat – and here is Chapter 18!**

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 18: Haunted.**

**Setting: Miami Beach Resort of Rippers: Shore of Internal Strife.**

Stefan felt the air rushing past his head, felt the chill, but humid evening wind nipping at his hot and flushed skin; its insistent breeze playing in his hair, lightly teasing his scalp.

He couldn't recall where he was; he could barely recall who he was - and the absence of these details refused to register as an absence. All he knew was what he felt; the pleasant externalities of cooling relief meeting fevered flesh, the calming sensation of his own forward motion quieting somewhat the restlessness which had begun to pool within him, gathering ominously at the base of his spine, the back of his neck, in his joints and behind his darkened eyes - and the ambiguously painful internal sensations of a narrow, yet all-consuming awareness.

It was the unleashed awareness of what he was. What he had always been. What he would always be.

A predator.

A killer - with no past and no future; with no baggage and no rules.

Vaguely, he knew that something had changed; that something was …different. That this self-knowledge wasn't new; wasn't a revelation – but it tasted profoundly of surety, relief, and release and Stefan drank deeply discerning a coppery ribbon of flavor within the intoxicating cocktail.

He stopped running as the scent of a bonfire reached his nostrils.

_Why had he been running anyway? Was there a why? Did it matter?_

Stefan turned slowly, purposefully towards the darkened horizon where the rippling black water met the gray sand of night, towards the beach, towards the people. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his probing tongue instinctively sliding frontward from the roof of his mouth to feel the smooth and sharp ivory of his elongating incisors, tracking gently and silently across from one to the other, as he calculated the distance and the direction of his next meal.

His skin was on fire; a filmy layer of sweat forming at the nexus of his own internal heat and the sudden cessation of movement which allowed the damp air to settle around him, blanketing him. But, there was something cold too, something detached.

Reality had merged with oblivion and there was only Now.

Distantly, he recalled that he was running _from_ something, but at some point in his journey that knowledge had abandoned him, supplanted by a greater knowledge. He let out a protracted breath.

_Stefan_, a low sweet voice rang in his ears. He opened his eyes, taking a startled step backwards and looked around the loneliness shared only by the sand and salt friendly Florida Red Bay evergreens and Ink Berry shrubs. Could senses so alive betray him?

He stilled and listened; hearing nothing, seeing nothing, but sensing something.

_I love you, Stefan._

Unsure where to turn, knowing that the source of this voice would continue to elude him, he growled in response, a low and visceral sound that began somewhere deep inside, causing a concurrent vibration that reverberated in his empty belly stretching out, seeping out like blood through broken veins until he could feel it in his fingertips.

Stefan shook his head violently, trying to bury the images without context that threatened to overtake him.

_He was lying on the hard packed dirt ground, immobile; an alien pain searing his center. The ground was cold, but Stefan had warmth spilling out of him, covering his middle, his vision mottled and distorted around the edges by dark spots, small but growing larger erasing more and more of the world that he had known, dying._

Back in the present, the Now; Stefan, his whole body shaking with rage at the unwanted intrusion into his mind, ambled gracelessly forward through the thick fence of evergreens and into the light shore-side brush and reeds which marked the perimeter of the beach.

_I love you, Stefan._

_He was inside somewhere, dark paneled and polished wood filled his peripheral vision, as he stood watching a beautiful woman with love in her brown eyes declare her feelings for him without hesitation or reservation, telling him not to worry, touching his arm, soothing him…_

Stefan's head whipped wildly around the inky coastline, the smell of the fire seeming to come at him from all directions, his eyes round with terror, all whites and large pupils from the jumbled, but all too vivid scene settings and the obscurity of night.

Conflicting emotions and contradictory impulses descended upon him like a swarm of locusts. He doubled over in his phantom pain; his arms, bent at the elbows coming up around his head defensively, trying to ward off the relics of his past surrounding him, tearing into the remaining pieces his shattered psyche.

_I love you, Stefan._

_He was in a familiar hotel room, untying a woman that he knew, but didn't know. He felt that he loved her, but knew that he didn't. He felt her fear. He felt her relief. He felt her confusion. He felt her delicate bones cracking beneath his twisted embrace. And then he felt nothing._

Stefan held himself for a long moment, the whisper of a whimper on his slightly parted and waiting lips; a cry waiting to be born, as he anticipated the continuance of the emotional onslaught.

But, it did not come.

Eventually, he righted himself. He forced himself to focus only on the origin of the bonfire, allowing the night to consume his memories, to chase away the disjointed visions so little understood from his current vantage point.

But, one image continued to haunt the back of his animal mind – a woman, slender and achingly beautiful with long dark hair, sultry large and dark eyes and a small, but contagious smile which mocked him. It mocked everything that he had been, everything that he did not want to remember – her taunting gaze promising to illuminate the edges of a consciousness that was no longer his, that he had forfeit, that he wanted more than anything to reject, to turn off.

Stefan wanted to find her, he wanted to fuck her, and he wanted to tear her apart, to taste of her beauty and to destroy it, before it destroyed him.

For now, however, he would content himself with whatever there was to find at the fireside.

He felt a rush a wind behind him and turned to see another there, to see Klaus there. Klaus smiled as though he could see the machinations of Stefan's twisted brain and he nodded his head upwind. In his eyes there was a question and an order.

Here was something that Stefan could understand.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls General Hospital: Bonnie's Room Of Corporeal Body-Sharing.<strong>

Everyone held their collective breath for a long moment as Bonnie gripped the purple stone, tempting its hard angles to draw blood. The room was still as she held it in both hands. Even the breeze from the open window ceased to flow, and the only noise was the sound of the young witch's rhythmic breathing; slow, deep and deliberate.

And nothing happened.

Bonnie sat back trying to let go of her tension, trying to clear her mind, letting her body fall slack amid the small mountain of hospital pillows that Jeremy had amassed for her from nearby unoccupied rooms.

Without thinking Elena wrapped her arms tightly around her small frame as she hugged herself. Damon stood back, reclaiming a deceptively disinterested half perch against the window sill, his feet crossed at the ankles his hands shoved carelessly into his pockets – only his sharp gaze betraying the full extent of his attentiveness. This was dangerous, and probably stupid – both concepts that Damon was intimately familiar with - but, it was Bonnie's choice. She was willing to be a martyr – but, at least she had _some_ chance in hell of getting something done.

As time stretched and the seconds turned into minutes and the passing minutes threatened to enter the double-digits, Damon's gaze faltered and he once again contemplated the uselessness of witches as a species. His eyes roamed the room restlessly before they met Ric's questioning eyes.

Damon just shrugged. This was getting ridiculous. Emily was wasting their time, the latest distraction in an interminable string of distractions since Klaus disappeared with Stefan - and Damon still didn't really know where to start - _how_ to find his brother. His mind flipped through a mental rolodex of contacts made in his two and a half lifetimes that might prove helpful and he had to choke back his disgust at the intervening deaths and burned bridges.

Then the lights flickered brightly and went out.

Damon's eyes darted back to Bonnie. Great, not like _that_ was going to attract the attention of hospital staff. With her usual accommodating subtlety, Emily's floorshow was finally about to begin.

Bonnie surged forward; her back straight, her body stiff and her eyes cast downward, studying the cheap cotton sheets covering her. Everyone took an involuntary step back, all feeling the sudden influx of power in the room as it emanated uneasily from Bonnie in waves. Damon alone moved closer, positioning himself between Elena and Ric.

Bonnie spoke in her own voice, but it was low and concentrated as her body trembled; "He's going to come to us. _She_ will lead him here."

"That's _it_?" Damon demanded.

"Which 'he' – who's 'she'?" Elena questioned looking from Bonnie to Damon.

Caroline crossed her arms across her chest, annoyed and hungry, "Uh, cryptic much?"

Bonnie's head shot up, her arms extended to her sides at a downward angle, palms out; her eyes glazed and her iris' preternaturally drained of their life and their pigmentation. She ceased to tremble, the struggle for supremacy having ended in the only way it would ever end, the only way it _could_ ever end – with Emily firmly in control.

She turned her milky stare on Caroline – the last to speak.

Caroline took a nervous step backwards, almost falling into the chair which she had previously vacated, "Uh, sorry," she spoke quickly, "I meant to say, please go on." She nodded her head in exaggerated civility, as she felt Tyler's arm snake protectively around her shoulders.

Emily turned away from Caroline and her disturbing eyes bore into all her audience one by one before settling on Ric with a small enigmatic smile and a smooth inclination of her head.

Ric swallowed, "Emily."

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence before Damon interrupted, "Uh… Emily?" he began, waving an impatient hand before 'her' eyes, "Earth to Emily…Far by it from _me_ to interrupt the little _moment_ you seem intent on having with Ric, but I am assuming that you didn't orchestrate this entire little drama so that you could flirt with a history teacher." Besides which Damon was pretty sure that Ric was going to wet himself if Emily kept smiling at him like that. "I mean, I know you've been dead for a while – but, surely even _you_ can't be _that_ hard up – no offense, Ric."

"None taken," Ric wheezed.

Emily pulled the muscles of Bonnie's face into a scowl, her attention fully on Damon now – which is exactly how Damon preferred it. She looked at him with intent and raised one of Bonnie's arms as Damon braced himself mentally to experience excruciating explosions of pain in short order, when Elena appeared close at his side, one hand lifted up to graze a tensing forearm, "Emily _please_," she said, "What's wrong with my brother? And what do you want us to do?"

Emily spoke to Elena, but kept her eyes fixed on the vampire at her side, "Your brother's life belongs to us."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Salvatore Boarding House of Uninvited Guests.<strong>

Carol Lockwood made her way awkwardly into the Salvatore home around Elena, who removed the obstacle of her arm from the door frame, but made no other move to make her entry any easier. "Good," she said once she had made it into the foyer, "I need to talk to him. It's important."

Katherine's curiosity was piqued and she didn't really care excessively for keeping up this ruse. Elijah, she knew, had gotten the Mayor off vervain anyway, had hidden himself in plain sight in her home and under her pert little human nose.

And whoever said that you shouldn't play with your food just lacked imagination. She closed the front door and turned to the Mayor, who was carefully unwinding her silk scarf with one hand, and tilting her head with a wry smile plastered on her face, her eyes spoke volumes, her voice thick with innuendo, "Well, I guess it _must_ be, Mayor Lockwood – if you're coming over here…alone…late at night…to pay Damon a _personal_ visit…"

Carol was not one for coddling insolent teenagers, even if she did usually like Elena Gilbert. She raised a finely, professionally sculpted brow, "I don't think I like your implication, Elena."

"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Lockwood," Katherine tried to twist her smile into something more innocent – it was definitely the hardest thing about impersonating Elena.

"No, I'm sure you don't," she said it in a tone meant to end this part of the conversation, without delay or argument. "Can you get him for me? This is town business." She looked into the parlour, "Where's Stefan?"

"Oh…he's out of town."

The mayor was nonplussed, "_You're_ here alone with Damon?"

Katherine arched a pretty brow, "Jealous?"

"Elena! Does Jenna know about this?" Jenna Sommers was obviously in over her head with these kids, first Jeremy's drug problem and now…

Katherine quirked her brow thoughtfully, her lips pursing almost into a pout, "You know - I don't know – we could have a séance and ask her."

Her discarded feelings of unease returning now, recognizing something …feral… in Elena's sharp, but indolent eyes, Carol started to back away from Katherine and towards the closed door, "Elena – I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't think _you_ know what you're talking about – but, I'm going to go, and then I'm going to call your aunt to come and get you. I know that it's been stressful for you – losing your both of your parents, but _this _just isn't you…."

Katherine's face broke into a full pout, as she came closer, a hand idly intertwining itself in one of her long, dark curls, "It's the hair, isn't it?"

Carol shook herself. She was not afraid of Elena – that would be patently absurd. She started wrapping her scarf back around her neck, "Look, Elena…"

Suddenly Katherine pounced, driving Mayor Lockwood backwards and pinning her to the heavy wood, with a firm hand against her chest directly over her racing heart. The mayor let out a small shriek and Katherine clamped her free hand over her mouth, tisking.

"And, don't you think you're a little old for Damon?" Katherine taunted as she nuzzled the woman's neck in anticipation, the blood rushing to color her features. Mayor Lockwood's eyes widened with shock and she tried to struggle. "Oh, don't be _offended_, Carol – I'm sure you still have your uses – they just don't involve wriggling…." Katherine removed her hand from Carol's chest and gave her broken arm a vicious twist. "And, let's lose the scarf, shall we?" Katherine gave it a good tug and let the shimmering white fabric fall to the floor at her feet.

The Mayor's mouth tried to form a scream behind Katherine's hand before she passed out from the pain.

Aaaand… overkill.

Katherine hadn't actually meant to take _all_ of the fight out of her – it was less fun that way. She sighed in vexation as the mayor's head slumped over, her body weight only supported by Katherine's iron grip. Oh well. She opened her mouth revealing her pearly white fangs and buried her head in Carol Lockwood's neck.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Meanwhile…Back at the Hospital…<strong>

Emily had related her story.

Everyone stood in a group now, whether for safety or for solidarity or for a better view.

Jeremy was at his sister's side. He held her shoulders protectively, reassuringly as Damon recapped the tale; "So, to sum up – YOU want US to track and kill Klaus – with the aid of some ancient magical costume jewelry, or you'll reverse the spell that saved Jeremy's life – because you can," he paused clenching his jaw, "Because Jeremy's "soul" or "essence" or _something_, is tethered to you and _through_ you tethered to the Afterlife or some shit like that?"

Emily nodded once and Damon continued, "And, Jeremy's…dearly departed lady-friends were trying to warn him that he needed to find Klaus in order to save his own life…with absolutely _no_ help or encouragement from you and your flock of flambéed friends?"

Damon paused again and Emily nodded, "Klaus is the greatest abomination to Nature which this world has ever known. He is anathema and should never have been allowed to come into existence."

"Riiight, I kind of got that part, _thanks_." For once, Damon was disposed to agree with short, dead and judgy – but, still the idea of _her_ deciding who deserved to live and die chaffed…badly.

Elena looked up remembering her conversation with Elijah before the sacrifice. She could not keep the bitterness out of her voice, "And _you_? You're a 'servant' of Nature?"

Damon snorted. "More like a servant of _Katherine_."

"Um, Damon," Caroline hissed, "Maybe you shouldn't, you know, make the angry vampire-hating witch… angry?" She turned to face Emily, "_Although_ - if we do this for you – what will you do for us?"

"Saving my brother's life isn't enough, Caroline?"

"That isn't what I meant, Elena. I…"

"Elena," Jeremy interjected, "I think Caroline wants to know if she can help us get Stefan back."

A stab a pain and contrition tore through Elena at the mention of Stefan, and her eyes apologized to Caroline before seeking out Damon as the one who must be most affected by his brothers sacrifice and defection, but she buried those feelings in a deep grave that she absolutely refused to have named for Jeremy.

Emily broke into their bickering, "Stefan will be with Klaus, if you find one – you _will_ find the other. Assuming that you find you still _want_ Stefan back."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Elena tried to break away from Jeremy, who held her back, his strong hands moving deftly from her shoulders to grip her wrists.

"Of _course_, we want to find Stefan," Caroline sniped. Damon was right about her – who did this bitch think she was?

A black look took hold of Damon's features, visible between the creases of his furrowed brow and in the dangerous glint of his upturned eyes, as he grabbed Emily by the wrist, "Listen _Witch_, unless you have anything _useful_ to say on that front, let's agree to agree that _you_ do not get to question _our_ motives, our loyalties or our _determination_ to get _my_ brother back."

"Don't touch her, Damon! That's still Bonnie's body!" Jeremy barked, "Even if her ancestor is a raging bitch," he added in a more moderate tone.

Emily looked down at her captive appendage with equanimity before meeting Damon's hard gaze; "Very well." Emily would not interfere in their intentions.

Alaric reached out and placed a hand on Damon's which he shrugged off brutally, but disgusted and disgruntled, he released her backing away from the bed to alleviate his growing desire to throttle her. "Why should we trust you?" He glanced at his retreating friend and crossed his arms over his chest, "Damon's right – you've only ever proven your loyalty to Katherine."

"My allegiance to Katherine was… necessary."

It was Caroline's turn to let out a snort of disbelief, "_Ye_-_ah_, and I just _love_ wearing last year's styles."

"Uh, Caroline – what you said before…about not making the angry witch angry?" Tyler tried to reason.

"No…you know what Tyler," Caroline narrowed her eyes at Emily, planting her hands resolutely on her hips; "I'm over it. She needs to explain herself."

"You heard her, Emily – explain yourself," Elena gritted out beyond fed up.

Emily's gaze searched out Damon, one brow arched.

"Oh, don't look at me," Damon spat as he gestured around the room, "the _Cabal_ has spoken."

Emily released a breath, which actually seemed to approximate a sigh.

"It was a very powerful and ambitious witch who enabled the duality of his existence in the first place, who interfered a thousand years ago. One nature should have nullified the other. But, he miscalculated and his own spell killed him. The other witches did what they could to rectify this insult upon the world – but, they lacked the power of the One. They bound his wolf-side."

"Why didn't they just _kill_ him?" Damon demanded.

It would have saved us _all_ a lot of time and trouble," Caroline finished for him.

"And family members," Jeremy added darkly.

Elena looked at Jeremy laying a small hand on his chest, hoping that history would not repeat, "And pain."

"They were afraid. Afraid of his family. The binding was done with the knowledge and complicity of the Mother – in order to preserve the family."

Damon pitched himself forward with death in his pale blue eyes, "How about you skip to the part where you being Katherine's handmaiden and accomplice was 'necessary'?"

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Liz' Sheriff-mobile: Port Parking Lot of Potential Peril.<strong>

"Mayor Lockwood." Liz greeted distantly as she adjusted the dashboard mirror, methodically scanning the dark parking lot for shadows and lurking dangers, "Before you say anything, I've just arrived at the Port to look into the missing per…"

Her hand halted in its careful manipulations, instead gripping the mirror tightly as she received only wet gurgles and faint sobs in answer, "Carol? ...Carol is that you? What's wrong? What's happened?" Liz demanded of her phone, her plaintive concern overtaking her professional tones, her professional decorum and her professional concerns.

She listened again, a streak of rage crossing her face culminating in a quiet and angry determination, "Stop the bleeding, take your phone, and hide," she instructed, "I'm on my way…and, I'll take _care_ of Damon Salvatore."

Against her instincts, Liz hung up on Carol. It was unfortunate but it was necessary. She had to gather her back-up. She picked up her radio and tuned it to the less well known channel that was reserved for her V5 deputies as she turned the key in the ignition.

All bets were now off.

"Franklin here," came a tinny voice.

"Franklin, gather the V5's…quickly and quietly…and tell everyone to pool all the vervain they have, in the office, at home – in their wives perfume, their husbands cologne, their kid's milk – I don't care. We're going to need _all_ of it. _No_ holding back, am I understood?"

Liz paused as she peeled backwards out of her parking space and wrenched her steering wheel into a broken K-turn, and Deputy Franklin was quiet.

"_Now_, Franklin!"

"Yes…yes, ma'am, I'll get everyone…."

"Good," she cut him off impatiently, "then meet me at the 27th mile marker on the road out of town – I need you to come in hot and dark…and Franklin – bring the doctor."

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2:** I'll try to have the next chapter up in less time than it took to get this one posted.


	19. The Prelude

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – Well…never mind about that…it's private. You understand... ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeah, so…sorry about the really, really, **_**really**_** long delay. The whole work thing? Well, apparently it sometimes involves 9 and 10 hour days. But, on the bright side – if the training thing doesn't work out – I will eventually have *all* the time in the world to work on this fic! **

**Also, I need to find a new apartment.**

**Also, hurricanes, tornadoes and earthquakes!**

**But, I **_**was**_** thinking that I could maybe update more often if I posted shorter chapters – what do you think? I could give that a try.**

**Okay, enough of my sorry excuses – Here's Chapter Nineteen….It's been a long time coming and I hope you guys like it.**

* * *

><p><strong>Previously on the Totally Fake Vampire Diaries…<strong>

_"Why didn't they just __kill__ him?" Damon demanded._

_"They were afraid. Afraid of his family. The binding was done with the knowledge and complicity of the Mother – in order to preserve the family."_

_Damon pitched himself forward with death in his pale blue eyes, "How about you skip to the part where you being Katherine's handmaiden and accomplice was 'necessary'?"_

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 19: The Prelude.**

**Setting: Bonnie's Hospital Room of Historical Reveals**

Emily glared at Damon through half lowered lids, her eyes almond slits of unveiled hostility; "Over the generations, as the true nature of the… consequences… of Klaus' continued existence became apparent to my ancestors – it was decided that he must be stopped…"

"And, by _stopped_ – you _actually_ mean _killed_," Damon corrected her savagely, interrupting what he fully expected to be yet another of her dramatic monologues before she could really get going, impatient and more than a little tired of her polite pseudo euphemisms.

"Damon let her finish…" Elena chided him, also impatient. She was calmer now but also very cognizant of her own harsh impulses towards the witch in the borrowed body. If she let herself - she could feel Damon's rage and simmering violence radiating from his center, from the tension obvious in the set of his shoulders, from the hard line of his jaw, from the dark hue in his unusually impenetrable light eyes as they briefly met her own.

For just a moment as their eyes met, Elena wondered if she was feeling her own anger or if it was possible that she could be feeling his. Fleetingly too, as Damon's gaze broke off and he pulled away from her and stalked back to his window perch, she wondered if it mattered.

She shook the thought off and turned back to Emily as Jeremy spoke behind her, "Seriously man – the sooner she says whatever it is she has to say, the sooner we get Bonnie back."

"Wait… what were the 'consequences'?" Caroline asked with genuine curiosity.

Emily smiled darkly – pulling Bonnie's mouth up unevenly at the ends into a discordant and crooked smile that was an eerie and faintly mocking facsimile of something so inherently _Bonnie_, "Because of that offense, all witches are called upon to maintain the Balance." Emily twisted her face into a strange mask mixing exultation, bitterness and contemptuousness, "It is the destiny of every witch who bears the burden of the lineage of that original transgressor to have their lives and fates intertwined with those of the vampires. Our lives tend to be short and our deaths violent, and our afterlives..."

"Eternally fucked," Damon bit out from his corner with some satisfaction.

"Wait," Tyler sounded confused and his shook his head slightly, "You're related to a bunch of eastern-European witches?"

"But, Bonnie…?" The voice Elena dimly recognized as her own though she was barely aware that she had spoken.

"Your friend is unlikely to fare better."

"Unless _we_ kill Klaus," Ric prompted, gesturing vaguely to the assembled group.

"So we kill Klaus," Jeremy's tone was steady, decided and matter-of-fact.

Damon paced the short distance between the window and the far corner of the hospital room restlessly as he listened. This was getting out of hand. All he wanted was Stefan back. Sure, he wanted Klaus dead too. He had killed Elena, tried to kill Bonnie, almost sacrificed Blondie and Jojo the Dog-faced Boy, killed Elena's aunt, taken over Ric _and_ he fucking absconded with Stefan (No one fucking absconds with Stefan. If anyone was going to torture Stefan – it should be Damon…and even _that_ simple pleasure had lost a lot of its charm as of late. Stefan just _couldn't_ fucking let him die.). Aaand he just really, really pissed Damon off. But the dead bitch was getting the Suicide Squad all riled up for another goddamned kamikaze mission.

Damon abruptly stopped his pacing, and leaning forward, his open palms pushing deep into the bed in front of Emily, his eyes bore into hers, his face just inches away, "You want us to trust you? You have to give us something."

Damon paused and the tension in the room heightened as everyone present watched uneasily the exchange between Damon and Emily, "_How_ do we kill Klaus?"

Emily's eyes did not falter as she stared back at Damon - but rather looking through him she continued, "Five hundred years ago – when the vampire Katherine Pierce was the human doppelganger Katerina Petrova, she was brought before Klaus… A witch - a descendent of one who had borne witness to the creation and binding of Klaus – had been entrusted with this stone…"

"This cheap, gaudy," Damon pushed himself up off the bed, grabbing the stone from Emily, "gypsy-trinket?"

"The stone was created as an assurance that Klaus could one day be… killed. At its center is a drop of the blood of the original doppelganger – or rather, the original individual in the image of which the doppelganger line was created. It is a sister to the moonstone. One was created to bind, the other to kill."

"Can we get to the point?"

"It was believed that upon the death of the witch in possession of the stone in 1492, it found its way into Katherine's hands. Katerina does not even know what she has…."

Damon suddenly found that even _his_ vocabulary did not comprise enough expletives to do justice to his thoughts regarding Katherine's continuous involvement in his existence. "Katherine _always_ knows what she has," he exploded in his frustration.

"I believe that Klaus's continued existence would refute that."

"So…you were trying to get it back…" Caroline nodded in comprehension.

Emily nodded. "I tried until the end. And I failed. _That_," Emily indicated the rock in Damon's hand, "is not the actual stone."

Elena rolled her eyes, "Of course it isn't," she said tiredly.

The thin dam of self-restraint within Damon's psyche, so carefully cultivated over the years threatened to overflow and to crumble under the pressure of his building anger and his aggravation. If he was in control, if he understood the endgame – Damon could be patient. Very patient.

But this...

Emily, Klaus, Stefan, even Jeremy's life was on the line – and Damon could feel the situation spinning out of his control and beyond his capabilities...and having to _trust_ Emily was most definitely beyond his ability. All that _and_ he had to protect (protect!) Elena and her self-preservationally challenged pack of friends….One hand, almost trembling with the effort to contain his more violent impulses, rose to pinch the bridge of his nose his head thrown back, his neck taut and his eyes closed, the other hand gripping the window sill behind him until his knuckles were white with strain, "You don't even fucking have it?"

"No…but, Katherine does."

"And just what makes you think she still has it?" Damon's eyes remained shut convinced as he was that if he looked at Emily right now he would rip Bonnie's throat out. And he would enjoy it.

Elena and Alaric both glanced nervously at Damon for a heartbeat, both understanding the internal struggle raging behind his composed demeanor, Ric because he knew Damon well and Elena because she could sense it.

Instinctively, Elena turned to meet her history teachers' eyes and they exchanged a nod before Elena approached Damon, laying a placating hand on his forearm, as Alaric spoke, "Why didn't you tell us about this before?"

Damon almost flinched, though not in fear, under Elena's light touch before relaxing slightly in recognition as she placed her other hand on his other arm pulling it away from his face, prompting him to open his eyes and to emerge from the storm inside his head.

Far away from him, Emily went on; "It was thought an unnecessary complication. Bonnie could have and should have killed Klaus."

The group, outside of Damon and Elena, erupted into a chorus of objection and righteous indignation led unsurprisingly by Jeremy, "But, it would have killed her!"

"She will die. One way or another – it is the _natural_ order of things," Emily stressed her syllables pointedly, sparing a disapproving look for Damon. "There are worse fates."

* * *

><p><strong>The Salvatore Boarding House of Even More Uninvited Guests.<strong>

Liz stood near the entry way to the Salvatore home, rang the bell and stood back awkwardly, setting her arms down at her sides, and with one hand appearing to rest idly on the edge of her walkie, she surreptitiously held down the talk button so that her deputies could listen.

Damon was dangerous… God only knew exactly _how_ dangerous and she wanted to seem as normal as possible, so as not to tip him off that she was on to him.

For all of her conviction however, Sheriff Forbes was rather naïve if she believed that Damon would not sense her tension, or her tight-lipped apprehension. She scanned the porch, uncomfortably switching her weight from one foot to the other and waited.

Once she was reasonably sure that Damon wasn't at home she tried the door, wondering at an evil vampire in their midst who would leave his door unlocked. Damon might be dangerous, but he was obviously too cocky by far. Then again, she supposed that anyone entering a vampire's house uninvited was not likely to be much of a threat.

Taking a final sweeping glance around the exterior of the house, Liz grabbed the knob and pushed her way into the darkened foyer, "Damon? Damon, it's Liz Forbes - are you home?" Sheriff Forbes' stepped on something soft that muffled the sound of her light tread and crouching down, she retrieved and examined the Mayor's forgotten scarf now crumpled and specked with dried dots of her blood. Scowling slightly, Liz spoke into quietly her radio, "Target does not appear to be at home – but, I've found evidence of the assault. Search the grounds…quietly…I'm going to take a look around."

Liz waited for the muffled 'copy' as she tried to choke back the personal affront that this particular attack presented as she stood and let the scarf fall back to the floor. She had felt something for Damon, had felt affected when she believed that he had sacrificed himself to rescue Elena, had been grateful to him for at least trying to save Caroline's life; had been willing to let him just walk out of this town.

How could she have been so stupid?

And the others? Were they aware of Damon's on-going extracurricular activities or had he been hiding this from them all? Liz refused to believe that her daughter and Bonnie and the Gilbert kids would willingly protect an unrepentant monster and would-be murderer. Ric Saltzmann was possibly another story.

Now, she needed to find Carol Lockwood. Liz had instructed her to stop the bleeding and to hide…so, where might she be hiding?

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mayor Lockwood's Mansion of Plotting &amp; Planning.<strong>

Carol Lockwood was at home, if not safe and sound, then healed and changing into a clean and unbloodied set of clothes as Katherine rifled discontentedly through her closet full of silk blouses, suits and professional attire.

"Don't you have anything _fun_?" she complained with a hint of petulance as she let fall from her hands the sixth cream colored blouse. Raising her eyes, she met Carol's in the mirror where she stood fixing her tousled hair before adding derisively, "Oh right…you're _old_ and boring."

Carol mildly affronted, arched a brow without turning around, "I don't really _do_ casual, Katherine – although, I do have some tennis skirts somewhere – and if you want a plunging neckline, you can try my evening wear in the closet in the guest bedroom."

Katherine turned away from the large wardrobe and moved gracefully to stand behind the Mayor, taking in the reflection of both their countenances and gently grazing a hand across the mayor's healed neck, watching the movement of her hand in the glass, "No, that won't be necessary – tonight isn't really a _gala_ occasion, after all."

"Suit yourself," Carol shrugged slightly as she clasped a delicate pearl earring.

"I," Katherine began after a short pause as she deliberately retrieved the matching pearl necklace from the surface of the vanity, "am more interested in whether you understand your part in tonight's little play." She looked expectantly into the mirror, watching Carol's face closely as she casually draped the pearls around her neck.

Carol watched the deceptively powerful hands on either side of her neck, her hand with her lipstick halted mid-way to her lips, "Sheriff Forbes is already occupied tracking down Damon Salvatore…for all the good that will do," she trailed off slightly, "She's completely incompetent anyway – I had half a mind to offer Damon her job tonight…"

Katherine's face coiled into an amused and coy smile. _That_ would be the height of irony. Damon could certainly fit in when he wanted to – if only she could trust him not to interfere in her plans.

"…although, I suppose that's out of the question _now_," Carol reflected between applications of Passion Pink.

"Oh…I don't know…he does seem to be on a rather nauseating and incomprehensible do-goody kick lately," Katherine mused in turn, "Damon Salvatore…Sacrificial Lamb," she made a face into the mirror before she shaking her head in mild disappointment. "But, that is as it is," Katherine's cheerful and lilting tone returned, "As long as he stays out of my way, he can take in foundlings, help old ladies across the street and spread the gospel for all I care…And _you_ have more things to do tonight," she finally clasped the necklace around the Mayor's neck and brought her hands to rest idly on her hips.

Carol fidgeted with the newly secured strand, her fingers feeling the polished white pearls a little nervously, "I already told you that you can use the old Lockwood estate to store the…," her sense of propriety lowered her voice to a whisper, "_bodies_… and Damon and the Sheriff are occupied…what else do you need from me?"

Katherine inspected the Mayor's make-up looking for a passable shade of lipstick as she answered, obviously enjoying Carol's discomfort, "A witch," she shrugged without looking up.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Hospital Exterior: Dead and Restless.<br>**

Damon and Elena stood alone in front of the hospital, waiting for the rest of the group to gather for a post-game recap. Emily was gone and Bonnie was back – and exhausted. Jeremy wanted to sit with her and Ric was uncomfortable leaving them. Caroline had remembered that she was starving and she and Tyler were looking to snatch her a few bagged snacks to go.

Elena looked distantly up at the light in the window that she was sure was Bonnie's room, "So…what do you think?"

"What do I _think_?" Damon snorted, "I _think_ we're screwed."

"Damon," Elena chastened, her eyes breaking away from the third floor of the building and seeking his.

Damon threw up his arms dramatically, "What _exactly_ is it that you want from me, Elena?" he exploded, "You want me to _trust_ Emily Bennett? You want me to invite Katherine back into our lives?" He broke off, turning away and running his fingers through his already mussed dark hair, "To lead your little group of Teen Avengers?"

"Damon," Elena tried to interrupt before he looked up, his face ragged, his expression intense and his face starkly shadowed by the light cast off by the hospital's outdoor halogens.

"When the _truth_ is…," he seethed advancing on her and grabbing her small frame by the shoulders and shaking her with a slightly tempered violence, "…the _truth_ is that I could probably do this better without them, without Emily and without _you_, without worrying about you…"

Elena stiffened, "You don't mean that, Damon."

"The _hell_ I don't, Elena!" he released his grip and pushed away from her, leaving her to stagger a little in his wake, "In case you haven't noticed _you_ almost got me _killed_ today…"

Elena recoiled as though he had struck her, but Damon was unrepentant, "…I _don't_ really play well with others, I _don't_ trust people and I _don't_ play the hero."

Having regained her solid footing, Elena realized suddenly that she was furious. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her dark eyes at him, "Well, it's time to learn."

Damon watched her and sighed, some of his pent up aggression having been spent and tried again, "I'm not a hero, Elena."

"You want Stefan back, don't you?"

"_Yes_," he drawled out loudly and with emphasis, "Yes, I want Stefan back."

"And you _want_ to protect my friends," it was a statement, not a question.

"Let's not get carried away."

"No. You do. And it's making you crazy…"

Damon sped to stand before Elena, one hand tilting her chin up until she was forced to look into his serious eyes, "Let's get this straight – I may want Stefan back…I may love you, I may even – no, I _definitely_ want Klaus dead…but, I. Could. Care. Less. Whether your friends live or die."

Elena set her jaw and imitated his intonation defiantly, "You're lying."

Damon glared down at her and released her chin, but said nothing, so Elena went on, "You're lying – and you don't even _know_ it…well, grow up, Damon. Stefan needs you, Jeremy needs you, _I_ need you." Her sentiment and her eyes had softened somewhat, but her tone was steady.

Damon growled baring his teeth – was she trying to manipulate him? "I have _no_ intention of letting Stefan rot as one of Klaus' _pets'_."

"Then work with us," Elena pleaded; "We all want the same thing – Klaus dead. I don't understand the problem…"

"What problem?" Caroline interrupted with a forced and transparent lightness, eyeing Damon's proximity to Elena suspiciously, as Tyler jogged gingerly to her side conscious of the contraband blood bags stuffed into the large pockets on his cargo shorts, "Is there a problem?" he huffed out.

Elena tried to turn to look at Caroline, but arrested her movement when Damon's hand shot out to grab her arm, "No problem," he said, his eyes boring into Elena's.

"Elena?" Tyler persisted.

"Listen Toto, you don't want to go all alpha-dog on me…"

Watching both of them posture dangerously Elena interjected quickly, "There's no problem, Tyler…Caroline…I'm fine, it's fine."

"See?" Damon smirked maliciously, "no problem."

"Damon was just…"

"Leaving," he supplied, "I was leaving."

Startled Elena turned to him, "Leaving?"

"Relax, Elena I'm just going back to the Boarding House."

"Where else would he be going?" Caroline asked, perplexed.

"I don't know," Damon could hear the question implicit in her response and knew it was directed at him.

"I need more blood. My…_convalescence_…was interrupted prematurely by the Emily-Show," Damon turned to go, "Don't call me, I'll call you," he called brusquely over his shoulder.

"Damon…" Elena called after him wanting to follow, when Caroline's hand brushed her shoulder although her eyes were tracking Damon's exit, "Let him go, Elena."

"What was _that_ about?" Tyler asked his eyes also glued alertly to Damon's retreating figure.

"I don't really know," Elena admitted.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Finally, thanks to everyone who is still reading despite a hiatus long-enough to rival the WB, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (if you remember who you are), including Amanda, AVT, and Anonymous! **

**A/N 3: Hope that Damon/Elena scene didn't seem to come out of left field. I was just so happy to be done with those hospital room scenes that I just let them go at it. ;) **


	20. No Rest For The Weary

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – Well…that's just for me... ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yay! Long Weekend = Time to Write! Thank You to Everyone who stuck with me and the story despite the long hiatus, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I truly love you guys and appreciate your support. **

* * *

><p><strong>Previously on the Totally Fake Vampire Diaries…<strong>

_"Carol fidgeted with the newly secured strand, her fingers feeling the polished white pearls a little nervously, "I already told you that you can use the old Lockwood estate to store the…," her sense of propriety lowered her voice to a whisper, "bodies… and Damon and the Sheriff are occupied…what else do you need from me?"_

_Katherine inspected the Mayor's make-up looking for a passable shade of lipstick as she answered, obviously enjoying Carol's discomfort, "A witch," she shrugged without looking up._

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 20: No Rest For the Weary.**

**Setting: The Mystic Falls Grill of Vampire Debauchery **

Damon's chin rested unceremoniously on the bar, one splayed arm acting as a buffer between his head and the dark polished wood, the other arm stretched out to loosely grasp his now empty shot glass, "Another," he demanded sluggishly.

Matt sighed. Again. "Damon, we're closed." It wasn't the first time he had said it, and he imagined from the look that Damon was giving him that it wouldn't have any more of an effect this time than it had the _last_ five times.

"Then the service should be faster," Damon raised his eyes to glare at Matt, while tapping his glass querulously.

"Fine," Matt threw the ratty, graying towel that he was trying to use to wipe-down the bar over a shoulder and grabbed the increasingly familiar bottle of bourbon from the shelf behind him. He was pretty sure he could pick it out without even looking. "But, this is the last one, Salvatore."

Although he could scent out a reasonable amount of fear and anxiety wafting off of Vampire Barbie's ex, Damon wondered vaguely when Matt had stopped being afraid _enough_, and whether or not he should _do_ something to remedy that unfortunate development, but right now Damon had bigger, more Klaus-shaped fish to fry...and more drinking to do. He let his eyes move to follow Matt's hand as he poured him another shot, "Make it a double, Ken."

Matt thought about objecting, and then thought better of it. "It's Matt," he said.

Damon smirked a little at Matt's easy, if reluctant compliance, but his face almost immediately melted drunkenly back into the bar top as he watched the amber liquid flow. When Matt was done pouring, Damon pulled his head up with an unaccustomed effort and dragged the shot closer, "So, _now_ I have to find Katherine and this stupid rock… _correction_… _another_ stupid rock." Damon said, continuing a conversation that Matt would really rather not be having, before throwing back both his head and his glass twice in quick succession, emptying it.

Matt eyed him warily, "Yeah, you said that already."

Damon brought up his elbow to rest on the bar and allowed his head to fall back heavily onto one bracing hand, holding out the other for a refill, "Another."

"No," Matt crossed his arms across his chest stubbornly.

Damon's head lolled on his hand towards the infuriating and contrary teenager, his eyes darting upward in another warning glare, "_Another_," he repeated, then in a low voice; "Do you _really_ think it's a good idea to argue with a frustrated, wasted and very _unpredictable_ vampire, _Matty_?"

Matt closed his eyes tiredly, "_Last_ one." He grabbed the glass and turned to the liquor rack again.

"Like I can just snap my fingers and find Katherine," Damon went on as if there had been no interruption and snapped his fingers in bitter demonstration. Hell, she'd been out and about and running loose the whole fucking time he'd thought she was was in the tomb and he had never found out..._the whole fucking time..._if that didn't mean that his Katherine-sonar was off, he didn't know _what_ would... "Like all our mutual acquaintances aren't _dead_…and not _undead_-dead, but really, actually _dead_-dead."

"Um. Sorry?" Matt said in the form of a question, clearly indicating both his inability to formulate an appropriate response and his total lack of interest doing so. He grabbed Damon's tumbler and filled it.

"Don't be," Damon waved off his non-sincere non-concern, "I killed most of them."

Matt set the shot down and sat woodenly on a stool hidden on the service side of the countertop, shaking his head in a renewed bout of disbelief at his life, before going a little limp and covering his face with one hand.

"…Well, actually – _Ric_ killed a few of them…and John killed Anna and Pearl…." Damon squinted through the fog in his mind, recalling past events.

"John _Gilbert_?" Matt managed to ask in a muffled voice against his better judgement, the fingers of his hand temporarily splayed, exposing one blue eye so he could see Damon.

"I know - total dick move, right?"

Adding the second hand to the first, Matt's neck released it's building tension and his head sunk into the comforting crook of his arms as his elbows rested on the dark paneling, and he shook his cradled head again in his despair.

Damon pulled his refill towards him and stared down at the contents, "…and, Stefan killed Bethanne – but, that was self-defense," he mused, "Oh, and Isobel actually self-immolated…" he shuddered slightly at the thought, vaguely recalling his own attempt at death-by-sunlight and Stefan's lunatic determination to stop him. Damon paused a while, apparently mesmerized by his drink, before slamming a hand down, startling Matt out of his misery and his head out of his hands, "It isn't like there's a _Kat_ signal I can shoot up into the night sky and she's gonna show up, you know?...Does Mystic Falls even _have_ a Commissioner's Office?"

"I don't know?" Matt choked out nervously, when it became obvious that the question had not been rhetorical.

"Of course not," Damon agreed heatedly, "…I _hate_ small towns." He dipped a finger into his booze and idly tried to make the glass sing, turning circles around the rim with his pointer.

"I sure hate _this_ one," Matt agreed with a touch of satire, his nerves steadying somewhat as Damon slunk back into his indolent stupor. He watched Damon carefully wondering exactly _how_ drunk he would have to be for him to be able to sneak out of here or get the drop on him before quickly discounting the latter option as being tantamount to suicide.

"Me too," Damon commiserated seriously, either willfully ignoring or missing Matt's meaning entirely. He half drained his glass before slumping over, his body hugging the bar.

Matt rolled his eyes, his expression just shy of subtle and stood, trying to take the drink from Damon, "I think you've had enough."

Without opening his eyes Damon's hand clutched the bourbon tightly and he growled lightly. Matt backed up, throwing his hands into the air palms open, "Okay, okay…just… finish it already – You've been here for two hours, we closed an hour ago and I want to go home."

Damon looked up at Matt meeting his eyes, his obvious drunken haze sadly mitigating his ability to intimidate. Matt may not have worked long at the Grill, but his familiarity with sad and pathetic drunks ran deep, including his sister, his mother _and_ her numerous boyfriends. Damon was haggard, his face shadowed, his eyes sunk and hostile and he reeked of booze – Matt knew that look, vampire or not.

He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his eyes, chastising himself quietly for getting pulled into this shit at all. For fuck's sake – he doubted that Damon could even compel him in the shape that he was in right now, "Look," he bit out in his husky voice, "I don't really _care_, Man – but, you look awful," and I want to go home, where you can't get in, "Is there anyone I can call…?"

"To come and get me?" Damon almost laughed at how pathetic he must seem, if a human, a teenage busboy with an even lamer existence than Damon's own wanted to call someone to come and get him. But, his amusement never reached his eyes. The truth is he hadn't been lying before – he _hadn't_ had enough blood following his near-death experience to be at the top of his game, and _now_ he was plastered. On the upside, that lack of blood was probably one of the reasons that he was _able_ to get so plastered. And, he had intended to be true to his word – to go home and feed and gather his strength – he just got…_distracted…_ along the way.

"I don't suppose you have any of that TruBlood that's all the craze down south, well…_further_ down south ," he mumbled, his eyes a little glassy, his lips slightly curled at the ends as though he might smile, "…or a _really_ stacked vampire friendly blond waitress back there somewhere?"

"Uh, Damon," Matt said slowly, "that's a television show…"

Damon collapsed back onto the bar, "Worth a shot," he groaned.

This was ridiculous. Matt was nervous, sure, but the bulk of his fear was quickly being overcome by his irritation and his kneejerk disgust to sorry-ass drunks, "I'm calling Mr. Saltzman," he announced finally, turning toward the back of the restaurant. The unmarried history teacher frequently ordered take-out and Matt was sure that they had his number somewhere, "_And_, I'm making coffee." Maybe that would help vampires sober up too?

"Riiiic," Damon slurred, "Good idea, I _love_ Ric… man knows how to drink…" Damon paused, "Maybe I was wrong about you Ken –"

"Matt," Matt corrected from the back room.

"Whatever," Damon shrugged, "You're easy to talk to…you don't interrupt…"

"That's because I don't care and I'm not really listening, Damon," Matt interrupted.

"That's what I mean," Damon raised his head, his face more animated than it had been for at least an hour, "– you don't _care_ – I…I think I _like_ that about you," he said with a confused emphasis as though he could not believe what he was saying, before glancing down at his hands and remembering the last of his bourbon. He tossed it back.

"That's great," Matt shot back flatly as he dialed his teacher's phone, _you fucking psycho asshole_.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Gilbert House of <strong>**World-Weary Children and Heavy Drinking.**

Ric, Elena and Jeremy sat around the kitchen table in uncomfortable silence.

"I still say we shouldn't have left Bonnie," Jeremy complained to the room at large.

He had remained in her room as long as his (and Alaric's continued presence) had gone undiscovered by the hospital staff. Long after Bonnie had fallen asleep and Ric had drifted off in his chair, Jeremy had remained awake contemplating his life versus the life of his girlfriend. Briefly, he had considered just turning himself over to the witches – but, the thought of what Bonnie had gone through to bring him back, not to mention the toll that would take on Elena stopped him. Anyway, he thought that Emily had made it pretty clear that they didn't really want him at all – he was just a tool…leverage that they were holding over his friends to get to Klaus.

No, he shook his head tiredly; mindless, futile self-sacrifice was more Elena's bag than his. Damon would come around and they would figure something out.

Bonnie stirred in her sleep, and Jeremy's eyes were on her contemplating her soft features and the contours of her sleeping face. She looked peaceful and untroubled, and Jeremy almost flinched as he realized that he could not recall the last time he had not seen her so serene. He wouldn't let her give up her life for this shit, and he certainly wouldn't let her afterlife be damned to joining the ranks of her ancestors. He pulled out a small sketchpad and pencil that he had taken to carrying around since the visions had begun and began to draw her as he saw her now. He had taken care to fold the drawing up carefully and press it into her hand before they had been kicked out, so she would find it in the morning and smile.

"Jeremy," Ric sighed into his tequila (It reminded him of Jenna), "Bonnie needs to rest and so do we."

"Oh, is _that_ what you're doing?" Jeremy demanded, frustrated.

"Jeremy!"

"What?" Jeremy rejoined turning to his sister, "He's always drinking, Elena."

"Jeremy," she said again in a lower voice, "Ric is here…voluntarily… to take care of us."

"Ric can _hear_ you," Ric cut in, making a face and getting up with his drink. He walked away from them and towards the sink.

"Ric, I'm so sorry… Jeremy is…"

"Right?" he offered, taking one last pull before tossing the remnants into the sink.

"No," Elena defended him, "Jeremy was being _rude_," she sent him an unhappy and censuring sidelong glance, "and unfair."

"You kids need a guardian, not a lush." What they _really_ needed was a goddamned savior, but those were pretty fucking hard to come by. And Ric wasn't sure he was going to cut it in that capacity.

"What we _need_ is a plan," Jeremy lobbed back in defiance.

"What we need is Damon," Elena added quietly before the room lapsed back into that pervasive and heavy silence.

And Elena really believed that. For all that she loved Stefan – she realized that Damon was always the one who took charge; the one who led the way and, for better or for worse and whether you wanted him to or _not_, he was the one who came up with the plans. And right now, she missed his cocky and easy assurance – even if it was a show half the time. Once upon a time, she thought he was arrogant, cocky and cavalier and it irritated the hell out of her. Now, she thought he could still be arrogant, cocky and cavalier and she had come to find a kind of comfort in it. If Damon could still be…Damon…then things couldn't be that bad. His desperation just before the sacrifice should have tipped her off that things weren't going to work out the way that she hoped - the way that she had planned. And, of course, she knew that wasn't all there was to him – but, she had always known that.

After a few moments reflection, Ric cleared his throat, "If Katherine really had that stone, then _maybe_ Isobel had it…" he began in measured tones, aware that it was a long shot at best, "and, if Isobel had it, then it might be…"

"…it might be at Duke," Jeremy finished for him. "We'll go tomorrow."

Elena just nodded as she stared absently at the table, thinking that she would rather have Jeremy away from Mystic Falls anyway. Just in case.

"We'll go first thing," Ric agreed, -_after he checked in with Damon-_ making his way into the living room to make up the couch that he'd been sleeping on.

Twenty minutes later, when Elena and Jeremy had finally ascended the stairs to try to get some sleep, and Ric was finally falling asleep – his phone rang. He jumped up into alertness; phone calls after one in the morning in this town could only mean trouble and he answered in a tone of undisguised urgency, "Hello?"

Ric paused listening, while his eyes crept up in a slow roll and he threw his blanket off, "Try to keep him there until I get there," he grumbled.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Matt's Mystic Falls Grill of Melancholy: This Just Can't Be My Life.<strong>

"_Keep_ him here?" he spit out affronted and incredulous, "I can't get him to _leave_! ...Listen, I know you're an adult and my teacher and everything, but can you just fucking get here? _Like Soon_? …Yeah," he grumbled after a short silence, "hold on."

"Damon! Ric wants to talk to you."

Matt stilled, his body tense as he listened for a response. "He's not answering me, Mr. Saltzman – he's probably passed out on the bar," Matt stretched the cord on the Grill's old-fashioned landline and craned his head trying to see into the next room.

"I don't know," Matt groused plaintively giving up his bid to catch a glimpse of Damon, "…a _lot_….I don't know how much," he repeated impatiently, "Enough to drink us out of our stock of good whiskey…And he had better pay for it!" Matt raised his voice for Damon's benefit, though he needn't have bothered and he knew it.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Salvatore Boarding House of Bored House-guests.<strong>

Liz had been unable to locate Mayor Lockwood in the house. Her deputies had been unable to locate her or any freshly dug graves on the house grounds. She had tried calling and listening for the ring. She had made her way slowly through the house, starting from the cellar and working her way up, pausing every two or three minutes to dial Carol's number and to listen.

And there had been nothing.

It was possible that Damon had realized his mistake and taken her phone, it was possible that she had bled out and died trying to get away, it was even _vaguely_ possible that she had actually escaped somehow and dropped her phone in the process. The last seemed highly unlikely given Damon's age and strength, but in terms of a timely intervention, it made more sense at this point to look for a living Carol Lockwood than it did to search for a dead one. Liz shuddered silently at the parallel mental images her mind had conjured up – digging up Carol as they had dug up Vicki Donovan and facing young Tyler Lockwood (werewolf or not, he was still just a kid) with news of the death of another parent. And, this time she would have to deliver the news herself.

She radioed her deputies, dispersing many of them to search the town…discretely…the hospital, the Lockwood house (just in case), and instructing a select few to make their way back to the cars and remain there on alert, should she need back-up.

Their orders were to refrain from attempting to take down Damon on their own; in fact, they were not to even betray that they _knew_ about Damon. With no vervain and having refused Mr. Saltzman's weapons – all they would have would be wooden bullets of dubious effectiveness.

No, Liz shook her head as she grimaced in disgust at finding a congealed mug of rancid blood on a small table in the parlour, they had already tried the blindly aggressive ambush tactic and it had almost cost her dearly. This time she was determined that _hers_ would be the only life on the line.

She wanted to call Caroline. To warn her about Damon, to tell her that she loved her, to tell her that she was a _good_ girl, no matter what – but, she didn't want to risk Damon finding out, or putting the pieces together somehow.

She looked around the empty room feeling suddenly exhausted, before her eyes lit upon the fully stocked bar. The sheriff wasn't a particularly heavy drinker (at least, not since the immediate aftermath of the disintegration of her marriage) –and usually she was on-duty anyway – but tonight she thought she might make an exception.

* * *

><p>She was well into her third scotch and not feeling much pain when Damon finally stumbled in… a very, very inebriated Damon.<p>

"Damon," she said startled into standing up from her less than professional slouch on the sofa… _his_ sofa, "You're home."

"Liz," he answered, amused at her quick assessment of the painfully obvious and not nearly as surprised as he ought to have been, "You're not," he smirked, wagging a finger at her from his tired stance leaning heavily against the entryway to the parlour, "I didn't think the MFPD made it a habit of breaking into private residences and drinking other people's property."

Liz looked down with guilt and a little confusion at the half empty tumbler in her hand, "You don't lock your front door," she blurted out, "and…I was waiting for you…" as though those two unrelated sentences explained everything.

"So, I gathered," Damon tried half-heartedly not to slur as he unevenly made his way past her to his bar – where the bourbon was _always_ plentiful and of a higher quality than the Grill anyway.

"You look better," she spoke awkwardly into the pause.

Damon smiled a little as he reached his destination and turned around, "Let me guess," he said, pouring himself a drink in cut crystal – really it was a mystery to him why he chose to frequent the Grill at all. No redeeming qualities – except maybe that it kept Ric from getting into his really good 'good stuff.' "_You_…the _sheriff_ in these here parts," he clarified in a mocking tone, "came to give me the Get-Out-Of-Dodge speech and run me out of this one-horse town before you call in the cavalry," he raised his glass to her, "but, you've since had a change of heart?"

After all – he had almost _died_ saving Elena. Damon raised an eyebrow dramatically, "Am I close?"

"Something like that," Liz agreed, her lips a taut, thin line. Did Damon always speak in such awful clichés when he was drunk?

Damon tossed back his shot, as Liz eyed her own drink with mixed feelings.

"Sit, drink," Damon offered in a generous, expansive and grandiose manner, extending his arm and indicating the seat that she had vacated upon his arrival. "I will concede that I _had_ thought I was done drinking for the night, but how can I refuse when I have such charming company?"

Once, Liz would have smiled indulgently at his antics and his flattery. Had he seriously convinced himself that all was forgiven and forgotten – or was he just that smashed? She took a step toward the sofa, but turning on her heel as though she had only just remembered something she wanted to ask, "Actually, Damon - I was wondering, if you had seen Mayor Lockwood today?"

Damon smirked again in understanding, "Oh, is _Carol_ still giving you a hard time about your record as a…" he said her name with an insinuating and discomfiting degree of familiarity, designed to unnerve and lowered his voice conspiratorially before finishing his thought, "_vampire_ hunter? Well, don't worry – I'm sure you have _nothing_ to worry about."

As Damon spoke he was concentrating harder than he would ever care to admit on figuring out which of the several blurry glasses he could see on the bar before him was the _actual_ tumbler and so he altogether missed the scathing glower that his more or less innocuously intended comment had elicited from Liz Forbes.

To her it was almost as good as a confession, a taunt, a malicious and hateful joke at her expense.

Liz clenched a fist, downed her scotch and turned back to the vampire, who instantly smiled roguishly,head tilted and offered her a refill, "_So_, why don't you tell me why you're _really_ here?"

The truth was that despite their _rift_ – Damon was glad that Liz was here. If nothing else, he was glad for the distraction. He was glad for the excuse to keep drinking – he hadn't engaged in some good old-fashioned self-indulgent, self-destructive behavior in…too long.

He was less glad of the vervain syringe that he somehow managed to not see coming.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls General Hospital: Ward of Wanton Witch-Napping.<strong>

Bonnie woke suddenly as though something had woken her – but, she couldn't tell what. She felt something small with pointy edges gripped tightly in one of her hands. A folded piece of paper? Maybe it was a note or a message – maybe it was important?

She groped in the darkened hospital room for the bedside lamp. She could see the outline of it clear enough – it was never completely dark in hospital rooms – there was always a crack of light seeping in from under the door, from the hallways and reception desks and nurses stations that were always lit, always open, always manned.

After fumbling a little, she finally found the little metal pull-chain, gave it a tug and unfolded the paper in her hand.

She was momentarily confused when she saw herself sleeping. It might have been creepy if she hadn't realized almost immediately that it was from Jeremy, that he had stayed long enough to watch her drift off, to watch her in a deep slumber. She smiled.

Then came the soft knock her door, the darkened spaces where the light from the hall was being blocked by a person standing on the other side. Bonnie tensed immediately, instinctively shoving the sketch deep into the pocket of her flimsy hospital gown. She didn't know exactly what time it was, but it was obviously late, her friends had left for the night and if it was them it was probably bad news.

The knock came again, and a woman's voice followed calling her name softly.

Bonnie's brow quirked, her eyes scrunching in confused surprise as she thought she had identified her unexpected visitor, "Mayor Lockwood?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: So, Matt made another little surprise appearance. As did Drunk!Damon – neither of which I actually intended to have happen. But, I have to say that writing should be fun – and bringing Matt in to have a trashed Damon make him miserable – really, really amused me, (much as Katherine going through Carol's clothes amused me, actually). I never really meant to have so much of this story be so serious and I just can't seem to **_**do**_** this without including scenes like those. I guess it slows the plot – but, dammit – I need my fun! Soo… hopefully you guys enjoy those scenes too. **

**Also: Please drop me a line. Thanks!**


	21. Captive

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – Well…never mind about that…it's private. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll. (Don't say I didn't warn you….)**

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><p><strong>AN: Hi Guys! Um, surprise? Early post. Thank last week's 3-day weekend.  
><strong>

**So glad you all got a kick out of drunk Damon in the last chapter – because I sure did! I don't know if Matt will be showing up anymore – but, I think he served his purpose admirably. **

**Ah, but now that I've done Drunken cliche and random cultural reference spewing Damon - I have to try to work up some more witty snark...Life is Hard...:P**

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><p><strong>Previously on the Totally Fake Vampire Diaries…<strong>

_As Damon spoke he was concentrating harder than he would ever care to admit on figuring out which of the several blurry glasses he could see on the bar before him was the actual tumbler and so he altogether missed the scathing glower that his more or less innocuously intended comment had elicited from Liz Forbes._

_Liz clenched a fist, downed her whiskey and turned back to the vampire, who instantly smiled roguishly and offered her a refill, "So, why don't you tell me why you're really here?"_

_The truth was that despite their rift – Damon was glad that Liz was here. If nothing else, he was glad for the distraction. He was glad for the excuse to keep drinking – he hadn't engaged in some good old-fashioned self-indulgent, self-destructive behavior in…too long._

_He was less glad of the vervain syringe that he had somehow managed to not see coming._

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><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 21: Captive.**

**Setting****: ****Miami Beach Resort of Rippers: Beach of Bereavement. **

Stefan stared.

The cravings, the images, the voices, the past, the blood-lust – it had all finally subsided into a low humming, ever-present static, white noise that left him calmer now, but still twitchy.

They were dead.

All dead.

An entire party of twenty plus. Their body parts mangled and strewn and ripped apart by Klaus. He preferred this to burning or to burial.

"_Think of the chaos, Stefan! Think of the fear. Think of the hours and hours of Shark-Week on the Discovery Channel."_

They would hide their actions in plain sight. Not out of fear of detection and not out of guilt, but with exuberance and with exultation.

And Stefan lay with his body at rest, breathing controlled, his head on a mossy piece of driftwood his eyes directed heavenward and he smiled, feeling more at peace than he had since he could remember. He stayed that way until Klaus, in his vigorous and exacting annihilation of the 'leftovers' sprayed Stefan with blood splatter.

Stefan bolted upright; his eyes surrounded immediately by thick black veins and growled his displeasure at his canine companion, who promptly growled back, yellow eyes gleaming.

His rare moment of repose irrevocably broken by a premature re-awakening of his senses and his bloodlust for which he had no immediate remedy, Stefan stood his teeth still bared and approached the lapping waves. His body shuddering and humming with power and restless untapped energy, he stood at the water's edge, trying to skip stones across the mysterious dark abyss – a wretched and tortured and unintentional allusion to another person, another lifetime.

He growled again and turned away from the horizon, giving up his momentary attempt at a distraction. Something about it, something about the simple action was _wrong_. The easy indulgence in muscle memory, the familiar act of mindless repetition... It should soothe.

It didn't.

_Elena_…the name lapped at his mind like the ocean on the shore…just as dark and just as deep.

…_is dead_, he reminded himself viciously as he kicked a disemboweled torso through the tree-line – like to see them blame _that_ on a shark…

_Right_?

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><p><strong>Setting: The Salvatore Boarding House of Boozing and Betrayal: Are You Gonna Drink That?<strong>

Liz hurriedly called over to her deputies stationed on the highway for help moving the body.

That vervain had been the last of the last of their supply and it wouldn't last very long. Damon was old, Damon was strong, and the Sheriff knew from Caroline that they had all been ingesting vervain – now that this…_Original_ person had Stefan, so either the vervain that she had just shot him up with would add to what was already in his system and successfully incapacitate him, or the stuff that was already in his system was helping him build up an immunity to what she just shot him full of. In which case, he might wake up at any moment.

Liz really didn't know, and she _really_ did not want to take any chances.

But, she also didn't want him dead…yet. She wanted answers. All of them. She wanted to know every terrible thing Damon had done since he had been in Mystic Falls, wanted to know the fate of Carol Lockwood…

She stared down at Damon sprawled helplessly on the floor for a long moment, her face expressionless. He had gone down without much of a fight and with a total lack of his usual poise. Like dead weight. Liz knew that anyone pumped full of incapacitating drugs would respond the same, but the expression felt especially apt.

Somehow, however, even as he had looked at Liz in cloudy but genuine surprise and…_betrayal_? Damon _had_ managed to deposit his glass safely on the bar on his way down. Sheriff Forbes nudged the knocked out vampire lightly and without malice; one booted foot making contact with a lifeless shoulder to assure herself of his unconsciousness.

She then took a in a quick scan of the room self-consciously, as though it were even possible for her deputies to arrive that fast, and as though Damon himself would find it objectionable, she grabbed Damon's tumbler and finished his drink for him.

It had been a long day, and it was shaping up to be an even longer night.

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><p><strong>Setting: Ye Olde Lockwood Estate: Please Don't Ask Us About the Chains – This is the WB, not Educational Programming.<strong>

Katherine gave Bonnie a good shove. Not because she was being obstinate (although she _was…_ well Katherine knew she _would_ be as soon as she woke up, at any rate) but, because she felt like it.

"Good _morning_, Star-shine," she cooed disingenuously, as she crouched on the neglected and splintered wood floor of the old house, with a playful glint in her dark eyes.

Bonnie's form almost lost in the shadows of a dusty corner of a dusty room stirred grudgingly into wakefulness. "Mayor Lockwood?" She questioned groggily.

"Nope," Katherine smiled, "but, she is here. Guess again."

"I'm so sorry, Bonnie," Carol offered.

Bonnie's eyes narrowed as she tried to adjust them to the darkness that surrounded her, her body stiffened in recognition and her face became a mask of stoicism. "Katherine," she stated flatly.

"Oh, no fun – you're too good at this game," Katherine pouted, "It's the hair, isn't it?"

Bonnie pretended to consider for a beat, her eyes flashing with hostility, "Oh, I don't know…maybe, it's the fact that you're a selfish, lying, dangerous bitch."

Katherine smiled again, Damon was right about this one: judgey, judgey, judgey, "Touché, little Bennett witch." Her hands on her knees, Katherine pushed herself gracefully into a standing position and turning clapped her hands together once in satisfaction, "Well, since we're all here now, and all _awake_," she turned to look down pointedly at Bonnie still on the floor before addressing someone or someones that Bonnie couldn't see, "We can _finally_ get down to business."

Bonnie glared up at the back of Katherine's head defiantly, "Whatever it is that you want, you have to know that I won't help you."

"And, _you_…," Katherine, her face still serene, spun on Bonnie in one fluid motion and with her hands still entwined pointed at her triumphantly with both hands, "_have_ to know that I won't take 'no' for an answer. I need a witch, and _you're_ it."

As she spoke, four young men – vampires, judging by the speed of their movements– appeared suddenly behind her.

"These…_very_… good boys were promised sunlight rings in exchange for their service to me," she explained lightly, as she pressed one hand against the solid chest of one of her 'boys' and watched its progress from pectorals down to abs, before pulling her eyes away and looking back towards Bonnie, "and _I've_ explained to them," Katherine slitted her eyes in tacit warning, "that I _always_ keep my promises."

Bonnie could not bite back a snort, but she managed to hold her tongue and refrain from articulating any verbal retorts, and Katherine was forced to be satisfied. After all, she couldn't kill the little wretch.

"Please," Bonnie postured, "I can take any one of them down."

"Yes, but can you take _all_ of them down?"

Katherine quieted, waiting with one brow arched for Bonnie answer. When it was clear that Bonnie had nothing to say, Katherine went on; "Right. Didn't think so. And besides, I have others – and it wouldn't take much to track down one of your friends – _I _have a freestanding invitation into the Gilbert house, remember?"

Bonnie maintained her silence but locked imploring eyes on Mayor Lockwood, who responded by averting her own, suddenly taking an avid interest in the dilapidated state of the Lockwood property. It had historical significance to her family after all…to the whole town really. Maybe she would invest in restoring it – then she could host period costume dress balls here every year…

Bonnie went rigid, her pleading eyes relapsing into detached defiance. The Mayor had been neutralized, compelled probably – and she knew that she would have to play along. For the moment.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I love Bennett witches – so …_compliant,"_ Katherine taunted, "You know I think I'm actually glad I didn't manage to wipe out your entire bloodline back in 1864."

Behind her, one of Katherine's voiceless henchmen dropped to the ground with a thud, holding his head and writhing in pain. She panned around to watch for a moment before chastising the witch, "Now, now," she tsked, "There's no need to get all testy."

"Sorry," Bonnie said tartly her signature crooked smile firmly in place, "…couldn't help myself."

Carol cleared her throat disrupting their _endless_ antagonistic banter, "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I don't mean to interrupt, but – Katherine, am I done?"

Katherine frowned a little, turning her attention to Carol Lockwood, whose presence she had been successfully ignoring for the last hour, "Not yet, Mrs. Mayor – I need _one_ more thing from you."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Boarding House Cellar: No One Expects The Mystic Falls Inquisition.<strong>

Damon groaned piteously as he slowly regained consciousness; the first things that he noted was the throbbing in his skull and the worst case of dry-mouth he'd experienced since the morning after his little post-Tomb debacle co-ed party. Could vampires even get dehydrated? For _water_?

He reached out instinctively for a pillow to throw over his pounding head to shield himself from the dim light in the room and suddenly became cognizant of the increasingly familiar tactile sensation of the cold, hard and irregular stone surface beneath him – a far cry from the absurdly large and inviting bed in which he generally awoke.

And then there was the smell; the damp, dank and heavy air mixing with mold and the residual scent of the vervain plant that had been stashed here until so recently – and even a faint, but lingering trace of burnt fabric and hair. Images from a night not too long ago flashed through Damon's addled brain, …_Me …Flamethrower…Elijah…._

_Shit_.

With bloodshot eyes still closed Damon's hands balled into tight fists, his well groomed nails cutting painfully into the soft flesh of his palms until they drew blood. His mouth twisted itself grotesquely into a furious scowl before unleashing a tirade of explosive expletives at finding himself once _again_ being held captive in _his own_ fucking basement, "_Shiiiiiiiit_!"

His voice cracked a little, his throat parched and a little contracted from the poison that had landed him here. His fists pounded in unsatisfying futility on the gray masonry beneath him.

"…_Goddamned sonofabitch! Motherfucker! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking motherfucker!"_

Despite the vestigial aching in his limbs, Damon's eyes flew open and he threw himself violently into a sitting position and bellowed out the name of the first perpetrator that came into his frayed, fuzzy and frazzled mind, "STEFAN!"

"Try again, Damon."

"Liz?" Damon's entire face quirked into something ugly as momentary confusion washed over him until the events of the last week returned to him in all their inglorious clarity. Maybe he should have stayed asleep. "Goddammit," he said again.

"I thought Stefan had been kidnapped?" Liz asked with venomous accusation in her voice, "Or was that a lie too?"

Damon snapped to attention and his eyes fell on the Sheriff in angry exasperation, "Wait, _what_?"

She heaved herself off of an old crate and stood to approach the cell, though not too closely as she gestured decisively for her two deputies to leave them, before turning to Damon – who had quickly gotten to his feet inside. He was secure, and this…was personal. She met Damon's eyes as she added, "Don't go too far, though – I might need you."

Baines and Chapman nodded reluctantly in deference to Liz and to their chain of command and after each threw an assessing glare at the caged vampire, they backed uneasily out of the room.

Damon surged to his feet and paced rabidly inside his tiny prison, his mind racing, "Liz," he growled, "_Seriously_? It's like you _want_ me to kill you?"

"Damon," Liz tried to sound reasonable, "the _only_ reason that you're still alive right now, is because I wouldn't let my deputies stake you."

"_Stake_ me? I thought your deputies didn't even know about me?" He stopped his pacing and turned to watch the sheriff closely through accusing wide eyes, "_No_, I _know_ that they didn't."

Liz looked briefly at the ground (and away from Damon Salvatore's unnerving crazy eyes) and clasped her hands staunchly before her, "I couldn't very well take you out alone," she explained simply.

"Liz," Damon struggled to keep his voice even and his composure intact, "…_whatever_ it is that you _think_ I did – I _didn't_ do it."

"Yeah, just like you didn't kill Zach Salvatore, right?"

Damon advanced, cursing, with disconcerting supernatural speed on the ancient metal bars separating him from freedom and Liz from the complimentary heart-ectomy that she _insisted_ on courting and shook them until they groaned and trembled under the abuse.

Liz reigned in a strong urge to recoil; instead she took a measured step back, "Going after Carol Lockwood, Damon?" She shook her head slowly, "Bad decision."

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Damon rattled his cage again, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the poorly lit cellar. Damon knew from bad decisions – and he'd been guilty of making _plenty_ of them. Starting with Katherine; _waiting_ for Katherine, _returning_ for Katherine, staying in this fucked up little burg, _not_ compelling Liz Forbes within an inch of her life two days ago…and of course, not forgetting the abysmal fail that was getting himself mixed up with his brother, Elena and the rest of the Mystic Falls Conspiracy of Stupid.

"_Where's_ Carol Lockwood?" she insisted, "We can't find her."

"_Carol_?" The question belatedly permeating the thick layer of Damon's bile and rage to reach his comprehension center and he was stunned, "How in the _hell_ am I supposed to know where Carol Lockwood is?"

The sheriff was almost taken aback at Damon's apparent sincerity, but refused to capitulate so quickly, "She called me, Damon…she _told_ me that you had attacked her."

Damon slammed his hands again on the bars with excessive force, "Do I _fucking_ look like I have her?" he demanded. What the _fuck_ was going on?

"Liz," he began, his voice a low rumble deep in his throat, "You have to let me out of here."

"I…I can't do that Damon."

"I'll compel the deputies, Liz…no one _has_ to get hurt…" Suddenly, Damon's expression darkened again with grim realization and accusation, "She knows?"

Liz thought that she could literally _see_ the severity of the implications as Damon rolled them over in his mind. And this time Liz _was_ surprised. And considering her current opinion of Damon, unreasonably defensive, "Well, _I_ didn't tell her."

Damon was silent as he regarded her trying to make sense of whatever was happening. "Well," he spoke at length, in an even tone infused with dangerous irony, "_I_ sure didn't tell her."

* * *

><p>There were <em>so<em> many things wrong with this scenario – Damon didn't even know where to begin, "Go ahead, call anyone – call _everyone_ –I really don't care… I don't have a single unaccounted for hour today. Hell, I stop watching them for a second and Elena tries to get herself killed, kidnapped or _worse_."

Also, if Damon wanted Carol Lockwood dead…then Carol Lockwood would be _dead_, not running around breathing and causing trouble – and certainly not off somewhere with her fucking cell phone so she could conference call everyone about how Damon Salvatore was a goddamned vampire! Damon almost snorted in derision – what the fuck was wrong with Liz? Did she really think so little of his abilities? He cast her an aggrieved sidelong glance.

Did people _really_ think he had _so_ little foresight?

"_Really_?" His voice was filled with unabashed incredulity.

Liz shook her head slightly, listening but non-committal.

"_Really_?"

"Damon…"

Both vampire and human head's spun to look at the closed door to the cellar as the sound of a muffled squeal, followed closely by a scuffle came suddenly from the other side.

Liz sprinted for the door, grasping at her holstered weapon and calling to Damon over her shoulder, "Who is it, Damon?"

"_Again_, how the _fuck_ am _I_ supposed to know?"

Liz began to turn the knob as one of her deputies cried out in pain, "She bit me!"

Damon didn't speak, but grunted as he rededicated himself to working on the bars, trying to destroy the door which held him back.

"I got her." Baines bit out. But she sure put up one hell of a fight.

Sheriff Forbes drew her gun, steeled herself and ripped open the door and watched in startled annoyance as Deputy Baines lost the support of the solid door behind him, lost his footing and rolled into the interior room desperately trying to hold on to a kicking and biting Elena Gilbert. Chapman followed closely on their heels, watching dumbly and nursing a dully throbbing hand.

"Let _go_ of me."

"Elena?" Damon shouted, "What the hell are you doing here? ...Get _off_ of her you asshole – she isn't a vampire."

Liz danced a quick two-step backwards to avoid having the struggle happen at her feet, "Elena?"

"Get off of me," she gritted out through a tightly clenched jaw.

Liz sighed in defeat, "Baines, she's a teenager – get the hell off of her."

"What are you doing here, Elena?" Damon repeated.

Affronted, offended and irritated, Elena let out of huff and stood up, "I came to talk to you."

"_Yeah_," Damon drew out the word, canted his head and smiled deprecatingly, "Not really a good time."

* * *

><p>"Damon," Elena breathed in some agitation as she grabbed his hand through the bars, "Did she hurt you?"<p>

Damon gave her hand a tiny squeeze, "I'm _fine_ Elena." Seeing the concern and the niggling doubt in her eyes, he took a quick stock of himself and sighed, "I'll _be_ fine Elena."

Elena nodded tentatively and threw the Sheriff a poisoned look, "What's wrong Sheriff? You didn't have any innocent bystanders to kill tonight?"

"Elena…"

"I don't want to hear it," Elena cut her off; "Damon needs to eat." Elena pushed her way past the Sheriff and made her way into the adjacent room where the blood was stored.

Someone is fucking with us, Liz."

Liz stance had relaxed into a lean against a wall near the cell, her nose a little wrinkled and her mouth slightly open, "Who, Damon? You and Caroline are the only vampires in town."

Elena found that she couldn't quite keep the self-righteousness out of her voice as she called to them, "Damon hasn't done _anything_. He's been with us _all_ day."

"That we _know_ of," he corrected with furrowed brows as he ignored Elena and resumed his pacing. His anger with Liz for turning on him – _again_ – had been displaced by his relentless certainty that this had something to do with Klaus. He could sense it immediately when Liz went pale and rigid. He sped to the front of his cell, grasping the bars, "What?"

"Damon…I…" She looked at him then with something like a nascent regret in her light eyes.

"What? What is it?"

"Grove Hill," she swallowed hard.

We're speaking in riddles now? Suddenly, Damon could see where Caroline had picked up some of her more irritating conversational skills and knew with absolute one hundred percent conviction that the blond didn't fall far from the tree, "What _about_ Grove Hill?"

"An officer went missing…at a foreclosure…"

Damon processed. Oookay, that didn't _necessarily_ have to mean anything – except that this was Mystic Falls… and Grove Hill… and a foreclosure…

"Actually, I've recently learned that quite a few people have gone missing in Grove Hill in the past few days…"

"How many?" Elena questioned as she re-entered the room with an over abundance of blood packets cradled in her arms and tried to hand one awkwardly to Damon who stared at her. "_What?"_ Damon just shrugged, reached his hand out and plucked one from her arms.

"Eight."

Damon let out a slow whistle, "We have company."

Liz was already unlocking the door to the cell when the call came in.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Outside the Mystic Falls Grill: Doesn't ANYBODY lock ANYTHING in this Place?<strong>

Ric drove into the empty parking lot behind Mystic Fall's most popular restaurant, jumped out of his car and approached the building. There were no lights on and the place looked deserted – and closed.

Now, Ric knew from the night that Jeremy had alm…well from the night that Jeremy had _actually_ died that closed in this town didn't always mean locked. And, if Matt had been right – it was possible that Damon really was passed out at the bar and Matt had simply high-tailed it out of here to be rid of him.

_And now, breaking and entering_. _Why the fuck not? _He_ had _come all this way, after all.

Quickly and quietly checking out the street around him for curious passersby and finding none, Ric tried the door and finding it unlocked, stole inside for a peek.

Ric made his way without too much difficultly past the pool tables to the area where the bar was located, relying on deeply ingrained muscle memory to get him there in the absence of any lights. The truth being that Ric could probably find his way to the bar in his sleep.

As he tentatively groped the smooth wood of the counter top in the dark for a sleeping, drooling vampire – his ears perked at the sound of someone throwing open the Grill door, "Who's there?" a deep authoritative voice rang out.

Ric twisted around to see the silhouette of a man in uniform, one hand unmistakably hovering near a holstered gun standing between Ric, the streetlamps outside and freedom. Ric grimaced, "Uh…my name is Ric Saltzman…and I'm just looking for…"

The silhouette stepped forward, getting larger and larger until it walked out of the light and was the size and shape of a human being again, "I don't care what you're looking for, _Mr_. Saltzman. This is private property."

All the death, all the murder, all the vampires and magic rings and witch crematoriums and kidnapped werewolves and werewolf kidnappers and fiery circles of sacrificial death…and _this…. This_ is where the law in this town steps in to do its' goddamned _job_? _Seriously?_

"I don't much care for that look you're giving me right now, sir. Please, hands where I can see them and step away from the bar."

Ric stepped forward helplessly, his arms held hovering in the air between his shoulders and his ears.

"And, before you try to tell me some sad story about your poor bastard alcoholic friend that you were just looking for to try to get him home alive – I have to tell you that I can smell the tequila on your breath from here."

Damon was _dead_ for this, Ric thought sullenly as the sheriff's deputy patted down his jacket and thighs deftly with strong yet disquietingly gentle hands.

They both stopped as Deputy Richards police radio crackled to life at his hip:

_Mayor Lockwood has called in. There's a hostage situation at the Port. Repeat a hostage situation at the Port. The Mayor and an Elena Gilbert are being held against their will by Damon Salvatore._

Ric's eyes went wide and his mouth twisted into disbelief, his grievances and the assault on his dignity forgotten as he listened…What the _fuck_?

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><p><strong>AN 2: You guys the show is starting up again! I am both really excited and a little scared now that this story is officially going AU. I've never tried to write a story while a completely different (and better) canon one is airing parallel! My point? Eh. I'm just afraid my inspiration to write a S3 fic is going to dry up when confronted with the ACTUAL S3…and that nothing will seem 'in character' anymore…. I will try – but, you guys might have to kick my ass a little if you really want it. **

**And, so this doesn't read as a naked plea for reviews – I will add that you can PM me for a private ass-kicking session if that be your preference (and should it become necessary – which, hopefully, it will not).**

**/End Terrified Rant.**

**Also: Sorry if that was a bit rushed – and it *was* - I just wanted to get the damn thing posted. I'm actually trying to *advance the plot*. I know, it's shocking...Aaand, I'll probably be back for edits. Hopefully - I'll get better with this 'plot' thing...as in actually skipping irrelevant scenes... :)  
><strong>


	22. Reckless

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries – but, every night while I'm sleeping – Well…never mind about that…it's private. ;)**

**Timeline: Picks up just after 'As I Lay Dying' leaves off – Assume possible spoilers for anything before that. Um, also assume some questionable language – because that is how Damon and I roll. **

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><p><strong>AN: Hey there. Soooo, I'm still plugging away for those of you still following this character-heavy, sprawling little pseudo-parody/drama fic. And to those among you who so readily stepped forward to threaten me with bodily harm after the last chapter and A/N, I can only say that you are my light and my inspiration to keep going. ;P**

**Where was I? Oh, riiight: Chapter 22… I *might* have gotten a little carried away in places - hope you enjoy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Previously on the Totally Fake Vampire Diaries…<strong>

_Elena…the name lapped at Stefan's mind like the ocean on the shore…just as dark and just as deep._

…_is dead, he reminded himself viciously as he kicked a disemboweled torso through the tree-line – like to see them blame _that_ on a shark… _

_Right_?

oooooo00000ooooo

_Liz was already unlocking the door to the cell when the call came in._

_Mayor Lockwood has called in. There's a hostage situation at the Port. Repeat a hostage situation at the Port. The Mayor and an Elena Gilbert are being held against their will by Damon Salvatore._

_Ric's eyes went wide and his mouth twisted into disbelief; his grievances and the assault on his dignity forgotten as he listened…What the fuck?_

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Down Atlanta.<strong>

**Chapter 22: Reckless.**

**Setting:**** The Boarding House Cellar: Basement of Bygones.**

"_Elena Gilbert_," Liz repeated dumbly, her eyes vacillating between the black plastic radio clipped snuggly at her hip and the actual Elena Gilbert.

"Oh my god," Elena breathed out immediately comprehending the implications of that call; her eyes instinctively searching out Damon's startled gaze, as she let fall the absurd quantity of blood which she had been hugging closely to her chest.

The flash of confusion that seized Damon's features was short-lived, as brows knit together and a grim scowl of barely contained disgust, rage and utter exasperation took hold, "Katherine."

"Sheriff Forbes, – you have to unlock the cell," Elena cried grabbing Liz' arm.

Liz stared mutely at Elena for a moment before turning a quizzical and befuddled eye to look at the still captive vampire as she persisted in doing her best Caroline impression, "Katherine?"

"_Liz_," Damon spoke as you might to a particularly stupid and irksome child, "You have to get me out of here. _Now_."

Challenged into action, Liz fumbled with the keys in ever increasing agitation, "_Katherine_," she spit out the name again, this time with more bitterness and a deadly intent in her eyes that Damon could appreciate, "_she's_ the one who took my daughter's life away."

Key in the slot, Liz paused briefly in the act of turning to compose herself: to try to think clearly and to see beyond the blinding devastation of losing a mortal Caroline, of losing her future and her grandkids. She met Damon's eyes – which were on fire with impatience as his mind flipped through the possibilities – none of them good – that would bring Katherine back to Mystic Falls. "Damon," she said seriously, "I'm trusting you. My deputies, Mayor Lockwood…" she trailed off, knowing that Damon would take her meaning.

Damon stilled as the atmosphere between them changed, suddenly pregnant with the weight of Liz's unspoken plea – as both of them wondered how he would respond.

He understood perfectly well what she was telling…_asking…_ him. Just like he knew that she would release him one way or another at this point – her daughters' killer running amok around Mystic Falls leaving characteristic chaos and confusion in her wake. She might be his friend – although at the moment Damon was having some trouble remembering just exactly _why _that was –but, right now she – _all_ _of them –_ were potential liabilities. His expression grew cold and his eyes hardened as he processed his thoughts determined only to not make any promises that he couldn't or wouldn't keep.

It was all that he could give her now – and it was more than he would give most people. A _lot_ more.

"Elena," he spoke with a low and deliberate tone, "Go call Ric – make sure he knows."

Elena, who had remained uncharacteristically silent during this short exchange between Damon and Liz; nodded back to life at the sound of her name. Ric, Jeremy, Caroline…_everyone_ had to be warned. "Damon…my phone…"

"There's a landline in the study. Go," he ordered her from the room and was quiet as he watched her leave and heard her footsteps recede as she made her way up the stairs.

"Open the door, Liz."

"Damon," she hardened the line of her jaw, "I need to know…"

"_Shut_ up and _listen_ up. Because what you _need_ to _know_ is that I will do anything I have to…_anything_…to _end_ that bitch, kill Klaus and then find Stefan, so I can beat the stupid little snot back to 1864. And, in order to _do_ those things _I_ need to _survive_ this night – and I _fully_ intend on surviving this night. Do you understand?"

Liz swallowed and braced herself, understanding the untenable decision before her – the explicit lack of assurances. _The devil you know or the devil that killed your only child._

And then, without any more hesitation, she turned the key.

Damon sped out of his cell and into freedom, grabbing several of the discarded blood bags and after giving careful consideration to accessorizing with the handy-dandy Salvatore Family flamethrower, grabbed that too. He had missed his chance once – but not this time. This time that bitch was toast.

Damon might even be moved to sing Kumbaya around _that_ campfire.

Liz watched him; but trying to keep up with his movements now that she knew and he knew that she knew was a lost cause, the knot in her stomach vying internally with her desire to take down that dead bitch. She might not be able to get any promises from Damon, but she tried again anyway, "They have families Damon."

Damon paused on his way out the door, and turned his head slightly so that she could see his profile as he spoke to her dispassionately over his shoulder, "Katherine won't know that, and Katherine wouldn't care if she did and right now – it's _Katherine_ that you need to be worried about."

Damon wouldn't commit to caring himself, but he didn't need to.

Understanding suddenly dawned on Liz like a gunshot tearing through her insides and a tiny, strangled gasp escaped her lips as her knees wavered ever so slightly beneath her– the call – the Mayor had called them into a trap.

"Just keep them out of my way."

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Port of Mystic Falls: Hey – I Remember This Place! Didn't A Couple of Scenes Happen Here Like Five Years Ago?<strong>

The stage was set and Katherine was the self-satisfied stage-manager of this little production. By now the entire town would be after Damon – well, everyone that had a clue would be, and that meant anyone who could even _theoretically_ cause a problem. He would either be keeping a low profile or have his goody-goody hands busy with damage control. Everyone had their part to play.

Originally, the plan had simply been to keep Damon and his little Junior Justice League occupied while she was in town, and _maybe_ get one or two of them killed in the process. Busy enough, at any rate to stay out of her way and let her take the witch.

But now, with freedom so close that she could taste it, Katherine decided that she would do Damon a favor and free _him_ from this miserable little existence. Just like she liberated him in 1864. She smiled a faraway smile.

She may not _love_ him, but he didn't _bore_ her anymore. And she was prepared to make sure he wasn't bored either – and he was whether he knew it or not. If he lived through the night – he'd be run out of this ridiculous little town. Phone calls to the police were recorded – and if no one who knew any better lived to tell the tale, then everyone would believe that Damon was involved in the Mayor's future untimely demise _and_ the wholesale massacre of Mystic Falls' finest.

He could even join her.

Either way.

Katherine had taken _everything_ into consideration – well, except the possibility that that moron had actually already gotten his ass caught. Although, if she _had_ known, the irony of her having this one time, given him more credit than he deserved would not be lost on her.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: Mystic Falls Bar &amp; Grill of Ric Resisting Arrest.<strong>

_What the fuck, what the fuck, what the FUCK?_

The deputy, Ric realized gradually, looked significantly _less_ confused than Ric, which only served to confuse Ric more – as he was pretty sure, tequila or no, that he had just heard over the police radio that Council Head Damon Salvatore was holding Mayor Carol Lockwood and Elena hostage at the Port. Alarmed perhaps, determined maybe – but, confused, stunned, surprised or dumbfounded – no, these were not words that Ric would use to describe the distracted officer before him.

And, typically, Ric didn't even know that Mystic Falls _had_ a damn Port.

Something was wrong about that call. Why the hell would Damon _do_ any of that?

The deputy raised his head; chatting up Mr. Saltzman had just dropped low on his list of priorities. He would just let him go, if it weren't for that desperate, cagey look in his eyes. He looked like a man that knew about, or was involved with – something he shouldn't be.

Ric's eyes fell almost involuntarily on the officer's gun, and then finally that little detail that Richards' mind had been on the precipice of recalling almost since the moment he walked through the door came to him – he realized that he _knew_ this guy. "Who did you say you were looking for?"

Ric smiled disarmingly, forcing his features to relax as his eyes flitted nervously back to the officer's face from his holster, taking in the slow creeping of his right hand as it closed the distance to his weapon in the process.

"Oh…_right_!" he voiced conversationally as though the call had not come through, "Yeah, about that…," Ric brought down his hands from their lofty heights and began to gesticulate, rubbing the back of his neck with one and casually shoving the other into a back pocket of his jeans that the deputy had mercifully missed when the radio call had disrupted the 'pat down', "you see the thing is…"

This guy and his shifty smile had Richards on edge and he was about to go for his gun, and tell him to get his hands back up in the air when he watched his eyes grow wide with fear at something behind him and he shouted, "Vampire!"

"What? Where?" the officer turned around, horrified, at the all too real possibility and clumsily tried to extricate his gun from its black leather sheathe. This guy, this Ric Saltzman was friends with Damon Salvatore – Richards himself had seen them together in this bar – when a man _that_ in the know looks _that_ scared, you look, "I…I can't see anything in here."

Ric rolled his eyes. He had taken a big chance with that one – figuring that his utter lack of surprise meant at the very least that he knew that Damon was a vampire – which meant that he knew about vampires. Although nothing else about it made any sense. It was a cheap, comical variation of the 'oldest trick in the book' and Ric knew it – he might have laughed until he cried at the fact that it had worked, if he were not so genuinely put out by the fact that he had willingly made his home in the _only_ goddamn town in the world in which it _would_ work.

And if this was an example of Sheriff Forbes' finest – this town was in serious trouble.

"Made you look…." Ric taunted under his breath as he levered himself deftly backwards up onto the smooth bar without making a sound and swung his legs around to the other side, grabbing at a heavy bottle of Grey Goose – never having been much a vodka man himself he figured that it wouldn't be missed – before sliding back around towards the front, and dropping his feet back to the ground with a small thud.

_I really hate Mystic Falls._

"Oh, you know – it might just have been a shadow then," he shrugged and in one quick motion, Alaric committed himself to felony Aggravated Assault on a Police Officer with a deadly alcohol – trusting and hoping that Liz, Damon, Caroline or some variation thereof would get him out of this mess later – as he brought the glass squarely into contact with the back of the deputy's head as the latter continued to try in vain to spot imaginary vampires.

Ric stepped back gingerly and winced in sympathy as the big man took a big fall.

"Sorry buddy," he mumbled over the body as he checked the downed man's vitals and grazed a hand over his scalp checking for blood that, happily, was not there. Ever the humanitarian, Ric took a moment to drag the deputy to a booth and prop him up there as comfortably as he could manage before getting the hell out of dodge.

The still intact bottle with his prints all over it, Ric decided to take with him – abruptly and belatedly wishing that he had grabbed a nice lowland scotch or a malted rye or even a Tennessee whisky – of course, he knew that Damon had drank them right out of bourbon, but …and _this_ is _exactly_ what Jeremy was talking about. Ric released a disgruntled and ragged breath, still undecided as to the ultimate fate of the vodka as he let himself out the back door and with a quick look around, jogged out to his car.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: The Salvatore Boarding House: Kitchen of Confrontation.<strong>

In keeping with his philosophy of 'hiding things in plain sight,' – something which he refused to abandon entirely even _after_ the moon-soap Katherine-clusterfuck, Damon had sped to the kitchen to dig up some vervain – now conveniently located between the oregano and the parsley on his spice rack (where it had the added advantage of being stored and cloaked among stronger smelling herbs). Elena might need it with Katherine back in town – and who knows – that skank Katherine was like a fucking Original magnet, and Damon – no matter what _anyone_ thought,_ Liz_ – was not entirely without sense.

Damon stiffened when he felt frightened and confused eyes on him, boring into the back of his head, their quickening heartbeats a temptation to a burned, abused, vervained, recovering and hungry vampire. Fucking Liz's fucking deputies were still in his home.

Maybe he wouldn't have to do the bagged stuff tonight.

Immediately following her little epiphany, Liz bounded heavily up the stairs after Damon to contact her deputies, to warn them about Katherine's lies. Without even thinking she sought out the room that Damon was in – her ally – for tonight, at least. They needed to be on the same page.

Damon.

Baines and Chapman were pointing their weapons at the finally freed Damon who turned slowly away from whatever it was that he had been (garnishing?) doing, managing somehow to look furious, bored, frightening and persecuted all at once, "Liz?" He questioned ominously, "You might want to call off the hounds."

"Stand down, gentleman," she ordered, attempting to conjure up more authority and project more confidence than she actually felt.

"Sheriff?" Chapman asked tentatively, tilting his head slightly in her direction, doubting his instructions and asking for an explanation, as he handled his gun still uncomfortably favoring his uninjured left hand.

"The lady _clearly_ said to stand down," Damon locked eyes with Baines, "And, I would listen to her if I were you."

"_Liz_?" he asked again using her given name.

"He's working with us."

In a tense moment, the two deputies exchanged concerned glances before Chapman spun around to face his boss, holding his weapon steady now and aiming at her chest in keeping with his training, "Ma'am, you've been compromised, glamoured or something…You don't know what you're saying."

_Oookay_ that was about enough of _that_.

In a flash Damon had ducked down and out of reach of the deputy's yet to be discharged wooden bullets, before springing himself forward tackling the human, sending the gun flying out of his hands, and propelling them both through the threshold and into the parlour.

Instinctively, Chapman jerked himself into a rigid turn towards the spot where his colleague had just been standing, both hands still clutching his weapon in a tight embrace, "Baines?" he shouted.

Grateful for the distraction, Liz took advantage of the opportunity to step forward, interlace her hands for added strength, and locking her arms at the elbows in a rigid, makeshift baton she forcefully plunged an elbow into the sensitive spot right next to the shoulder blade on her own deputy's back. His grip on his weapon slackened as he cried out in surprise and pain, his spine arched reflexively buckling slightly backwards, one arm spiking behind him towards the source of the unexpected pain. Liz promptly grabbed for the errant arm and pinned it up high behind him, and wrenching it violently between his already sore shoulder blades she rammed him roughly into the closest wall, forcing the weapon from his other hand.

With a foot, Liz quickly stepped on the gun and slid it out of his reach, barely listening as it skittered uselessly across the kitchen floor. She shoved him again, giving his arm another painful twist to distract him thoroughly while she brought a forearm to rest heavily across the base of his neck, freeing up her other hand to grab the one that still flailed dangerously at his side. She hooked her hand around his free wrist and pulled his arm out straight before hitching it up viciously to meet its captive partner, briefly lifting her own right arm out of the way, successfully rendering Chapman helpless, plastered to the wall.

"Are you going to listen to me _now_?" She spoke into his ear with breathless reclaimed authority.

Chapman nodded to the best of his ability, his cheek moving up and down flush against the thin veneer of plaster and paint covering the concrete walls of the Boarding House.

With another painful slam, she disentangled one arm to reach for her handcuffs when she heard Elena's cry.

* * *

><p>Pissed off, <em>hungry<em> and running on fumes, Damon was about to sink his fangs into the warm pliant flesh of Baines' neck without a second thought when Elena rushed into the room from the study.

"Damon!"

Keeping the officer pinned to the floor, his right forearm securely pressed across his collarbone, the pressure and the panic conspiring to make the man's breathing ragged and labored, his blood pumping rapidly and enticingly – even as his lower half wriggled and struggled for freedom – Damon turned frightening and darkly veined eyes on Elena.

His skin was taut, his expression both animalistic and detached, his complexion a translucent veil, a pale and colorless membrane barely holding back the harsh contrast of the spider web of thick black capillaries that streaked across his face, that seemed to want to break through the surface. They were darkest at their points of origin in the soft layer of pitch-black skin beneath his eyes, branching downward relentlessly traversing his face, obscuring his delicate features with their deep blue and purple hues as they gradually dissipated and dissolved into the tightly drawn skin between his high cheekbones and his mouth which was open in a snarl exposing the smooth ivory of his elongated canines.

Elena took an involuntary step back, her hand reaching instinctively for her throat as a soft gasp escaped her parted lips, "Damon," she repeated his name, her voice a strange mixture of fear, concern and impending loss. The worst was his eyes, the disturbing and unnatural colors – the sinister reds and shades of black that had displaced and overwhelmed anything human that still dared to make its home within him.

She had never seen him like this before.

He watched her back away from him; his lips pulled back in a grimace of opposing urges and closed his eyes, slamming the deputy into the floor so he would stop his incessant and enticing struggling – which only made the cravings that much more consuming – as he tried to rummage around the festering pile of dog shit that made up his humanity, his sorry-ass excuse for a moral compass, and his so-called restraint. He cast about blindly for that imaginary spark that Elena saw, that non-existent glean that Damon himself had hallucinated while staring alternately into the warm brown repose of Elena's eyes and the grasping maw of final death.

Elena jumped a little when the deputy's head was unceremoniously introduced to the floor, but she took a breath when the attack seemed to stop there and forced her arms to rest at her sides, "Come back, Damon," she began, "He isn't a threat anymore."

From what seemed like a great distance, Damon latched on to the easy rhythm of her heartbeat which, somehow, after an initial jump had never escalated into that racing tempo that was like a vampire siren song.

She wasn't afraid.

Well, she wasn't _that_ afraid. And that was good enough.

Damon sucked in a deep breath, trying to ride out the crest of the wave that still threatened as he made the effort to match up his breathing with the steady rise and fall of Elena's chest.

Liz slipped quietly into the room from the kitchen behind Damon, frog-marching the cuffed and submissive Deputy Chapman before her, "He's on our side, huh."

Liz' eyes swept across the scene; Damon straddling Baines, trembling slightly, but subdued and still and Elena – her eyes shifting from a plea and a hope to a calm certainty. For once, the sheriff took her cue from Elena – who was _apparently_ some kind of vampire-whisperer – and decided not to interrupt whatever the hell it was they had going on.

Aware of Liz' presence, Damon opened his eyes part-way to meet Elena's,careful to focus only on her in his precarious state, "Blood," he demanded through tensely compressed lips, "_Now_, please."

Elena nodded and turned expressive eyes on the Sheriff, still standing half inside the kitchen. She nodded in turn and sat Chapman on the floor with a look of warning and a finger to her lips as she glanced tellingly from him to the unstable vampire not four feet away. He got the message and she retreated into the kitchen to retrieve a bag that Damon had left there. The situation wasn't ideal, Damon could be dangerous when he wanted to be – but, he had stopped himself and right now this town had bigger problems.

* * *

><p><strong>Setting: <strong>**Ye Olde Witch Burning Grounds: Bonnie's Decrepit Den of Double-Dealing.**

Bonnie attempted to shake off her unease. She could feel the increasingly oppressive and ominous presence of Emily hovering in every crack and every shadow, making her skin yearn to crawl – almost as though it feared for her… Almost as though it knew of the fear, so primal, that Bonnie's mind refused to acknowledge. The fear of the usurper. That Emily might up and decide to reclaim Bonnie's body at any moment.

Bonnie shuddered as her body tried to rid itself of the demons of doubt and terror, chasing them from where they pooled at the base of her neck in an electric current down her spine, through her toes and back into the house from which they had come.

And then there were her vampire companions.

She was alone in a room that threatened to fall in on her – and a room that _had_ fallen in on her earlier that day – with vampires watching from the wings, ready to pounce if she so much as twitched, or so they said.

Bonnie knew better. They would pounce all right, vampires tended towards arrogance – especially the scrubby newbies – but, it was going to take a hell of a lot more than a twitch. And, they knew it too. She had given them a demonstration earlier and even though it would have been three against one, no one present was really looking for the refresher course.

Actually, this was perfect. Bonnie smiled, her face drowning in affected good humor at her guards. She recalled her own words in the hospital, right before Emily had taken ownership; _'__He's going to come to us. __She__ will lead him here.'_ Secretly, Bonnie had feared that '_she'_ had been referring to Elena – but, it was so clear now.

_Katherine_ would bring Klaus back to Mystic Falls. And Bonnie would help her do it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: So, I know that last time we saw Bonnie and the thug-pires they were at Ye Olde Lockwood Estate and now they're at the Witch Crematorium – there is a reason for this even though it was not explained in this chapter.**

**Also: Sorry we didn't have a chance to drop in on Stefan and Klaus. They're coming.  
><strong>

**Also: Since I cannot PM you: Thank You to Merrick for leaving a review for the last chapter.**

**Oh, and one last thing - family obligations this weekend might mean a bit of a delay in posting the next chapter. Apologies in advance if that is the case. But, you got this one midweek - that has to count for something, right? :)  
><strong>


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